Ama Me Fideliter
by aghamora
Summary: A year after the students' failed rebellion, the retired Inspector Javert finds himself called back to investigate a series of murders committed by a band of criminals with a grudge against him and his former informant, Éponine. - - Éponine/Javert, sequel to Omnia Sol Temperat.
1. I

**Summary: **A year after the students' failed rebellion, the retired Inspector Javert finds himself called back to investigate a series of murders committed by a band of criminals with a grudge against him and his former informant, Éponine. - - Éponine/Javert, sequel to Omnia Sol Temperat.

**Note: **I felt for a while after ending Omnia Sol that the final chapter was pretty open-ended with tons of room to continue, and so, having recently overcome a very bad case of writer's block, I decided to write a sequel. Usually I tend to think those aren't a good idea, but after writing a bit for Penumbra that could possibly be set after Omnia Sol, I realized I really wanted to write more in the world of this story, with an already established E/J relationship as opposed to building them from the start yet again. I hope you enjoy this, and, as I've always done before, it'll be updated once a week on Sundays. This isn't terribly long – only about 50k words in fifteen chapters – but it serves as a nice ending to their story, I think. It also isn't finished, but hey, I'll figure it out. It's been almost a year since I've published anything, and I think it's about time I came back.

If you've arrived at this story without having first read 'Omnia Sol Temperat,' I highly suggest you go read that first; this will not make much sense if you don't.

* * *

_**Ama Me Fideliter**_

"Love me faithfully."

* * *

**I**

* * *

Each morning, they awoke in each other's arms.

They ate breakfast together, dressed themselves together, held each other every night, spent day after day together in a state of golden happiness. They played cards and read together, and made love far too many times to count. They cooked together and laughed together, and somehow, neither Éponine nor Javert ever tired of the other's presence. They fought, of course – as any couple did – but never once did one of them walk out, for they knew well that, as day after day passed by blissfully for them, they had found where they belonged; in their own little corner of the world that was for them and only them. For both, the idea of leaving seemed so outlandish that, whenever either happened to contemplate it, they found it almost laughable. Neither one had ever felt such love and adoration as they did when they were around each other, and never did they dare think of the idea of separation. It would be unimaginable, they thought, to go on without the other at their side, and so they carried on happily, shut off from the outside world, but neither Éponine nor Javert could honestly say they much craved the company of the outside world.

It had been nearly a year and a half since the student's failed rebellion, and in that time, the faces of Marius and the students faded from Éponine's mind, as did her recollections of her time on the streets, before she'd become Javert's informant. Her misery and loneliness were forgotten, and she lived each day contently, wanting for nothing, requiring the presence of no one but Javert. Likewise, he yearned for the company of no one else, and though he did at times lament the loss of his job and of his leg, he learned quickly to appreciate a quiet, mellow life with Éponine always at his side, his wife in everything but name. He was no longer a young man, and although he despised the idea of living in a sort of retirement, he found that he was happier and more at ease than he'd been in years, without the stresses of crime on his back any longer.

One morning in early December, just as the first winds of winter were blowing in and the sun was peaking up above the horizon, Éponine's eyes fluttered open to find Javert dozing next to her in their bed, holding her firmly to his chest even as he slumbered and encircling her almost completely with his strong arms. She sighed happily and yawned, nestling herself closer to him and thinking for a moment that she never felt safer than she did when his arms were around her, her slight form protected by this stronghold of his making. The air was cold and biting around them, as their fire had died out hours ago, but the warmth of his body beside hers kept the chill away from her very effectively, his heat cloaking her like a blanket. She smiled, blinking the sleep out of her eyes and bringing her face closer to his unshaven cheek, then placing a soft kiss upon it, in the hopes she could rouse him from his slumber. He stirred and frowned in his sleep, but did not open his eyes, and so she brushed her lips across his chin, then finally raised them to his nose and kissed him there as well, chuckling under her breath when Javert shifted at the strange tickling sensation on his skin. Finally, she placed her lips on his neck and laid a trail of kisses across it, laughing softly all the while. This finally waked him, and his eyes came upon all at once to find Éponine looking up at him, her wide brown eyes dancing merrily.

With another laugh, she rested her chin on his chest and greeted him cheerfully, "Good morning."

He blinked several times as the bright sunlight blinded him, and then, after a moment, muttered in reply, "Good morning."

"You look younger when you're asleep, you know," she observed, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Younger?"

"Mmhm," she hummed, "Yes. Like a little boy. But a little boy who snores _very_ loudly."

They were silent for a moment as they reentered the world of consciousness from the world of slumber, and after the moment had passed, he looked over at her and admitted lowly, "I do not ever tire of it."

She furrowed her brow, her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she stretched out her arms, "Of what?"

"Of awakening next to you," he told her, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. Éponine smiled, her eyes sparkling with joy and her heart swelling with affection inside her.

"That's good to know, then," she breathed, moving closer to him and ghosting her lips across his, "That I never bore you."

"Never," he hissed, only seconds before she seized his lips with hers in a passionate, fiery kiss. Slowly, she made her way on top of him and pressed her tongue against his closed mouth, requesting entry, which he gave within seconds, wrapping one of his arms around her and burying one of his hands in her thick, chocolate tresses. He yanked her closer to him, relishing the taste of her supple lips upon his, and within hardly a minute, he felt her little hands take hold of the buttons on his nightshirt and begin to part them, revealing his firm, muscular chest beneath. He broke away all at once, however, and shook his head when Éponine looked to him in confusion.

"It is too early," he mumbled, and she bit her lip, her cheeks flushed crimson and her nightgown slipping off of one of her shoulders, nearly baring her left breast to him. He shook his head, urging her to lie down beside him once more, "Let us lie here a while longer."

Éponine raised an eyebrow but obliged, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck and breathing in his bland, salty scent – which, she thought, she would never tire of smelling. She did, quite honestly, adore everything about him, even the things that had irritated her greatly when they'd first met. She came to appreciate the way he showed emotion rarely, only when it was strong enough for him to do so, and Éponine knew that, whenever he called her beautiful or told her he loved her, he truly believed it, for he would not bother saying it otherwise, if it was only a thought that came to his mind once in a great while. She grew to love the flecks of grey in his hair and the wrinkles in his skin, just like she loved the muscles in his chest or the sharp, masculine shape of his jaw. She adored the low, rumbling sound of his voice, the ever-predatory look in his eyes that only softened when he was around her, and the feeling of his arms around her, a fortress that no one and nothing could penetrate.

With a frown, she looked up at him, "Most men wouldn't turn down such an opportunity."

"I am not like most men," he replied, and she knew well it was the truth.

Éponine shook her head, "You're right. You're better than most men."

"Most men," he repeated dryly, "Not all men?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, "Very well. All men." She hummed happily once more, taking his hand and sewing her fingers in with his, "But you know that already."

Though he knew not what compelled him to, he looked over at her then, and for a moment, he beheld her youthful beauty in silence, as he oft did whenever they were sat together without speaking. Her dark hair, which had become soft and shiny in the months after she'd escaped the streets, tumbled down his chest, strands of it shining in the sunlight and making her appear as though she had a sort of halo around her. After taking a deep breath, he reached down and brushed his knuckle against her cheek, feeling her smooth, velvety skin beneath his touch and thinking to himself for a moment that she seemed to have a glow about her in the early morning light. Éponine looked up at him then, and he took in the sight of her wide, brown eyes with a feeling of contentment blooming within him. Her eyes were perhaps more striking than any he'd ever seen before, and, when he saw them soften as she looked upon him, he pulled her into his chest and kissed her once again, overwhelmed at that instant by her beauty and wondering to himself how he had ever managed to come upon a creature such as her – and, how someone like her had ever grown to love someone like him.

He broke away all at once, and rasped against her lips, "I love you."

She chuckled lowly at that, then said, "Tell me something."

"What?"

"When did you know, first? That you loved me?"

He thought for a moment, and told her honestly, "The night you returned, after freeing your sister."

"You knew then?" she laughed, and he nodded, placing his hand upon her cheek and inhaling her gentle, flowery scent.

"I ought to have told you then," he grunted, and she shook her head, signaling to him without a word that it was not important to her.

She kissed him once more, then pulled away and breathed, "I love you. I love you…"

His large hands began to wander her body, and when they reached her buttocks and squeezed it firmly, she squealed in delight against his mouth and began to suck and bite at his neck, feeling him start to harden with desire beneath her. He bit back a moan, and hissed after a moment, "It is too early-"

He was cut off when Éponine reached for the buttons on his nightclothes and yanked them apart, then moved her mouth closer to his ear and nibbled teasingly on his earlobe, "It's never too early to do… this."

He brought his hands to her nightgown, then pulled her buttons apart as well and sent the thin, white fabric tumbling down past her shoulders, revealing her pert breasts and hardened nipples beneath. Then, Javert reached for her head and pulled her into another sloppy kiss, resisting the urge to rip her nightgown off of her entirely and render her fully nude on top of him. He did not, however, and, after a moment, he flipped their positions and climbed atop her, placing light, gentle kisses upon her neck and listening contentedly as she laughed, enjoying their sleepy, early morning lovemaking very much indeed. It was not as rough and as passionate as it usually was; now, it was lazy, sloppy, with their bodies still numbed by sleep, but neither Éponine nor Javert much cared, half-awake as they were.

With haste and precision he'd learned from their time spent in bed together, he snaked his hand between her legs and brought them to her opening, which he was not at all surprised to find already dampened for him. She whimpered softly as he pressed one finger into her folds, then two, but he did not tease her long, and instead set about discarding his own bothersome clothing, which quickly found its way into a crumpled heap on the floor, leaving him nude and Éponine still halfway in her nightdress. He found this to be entirely unacceptable, but when he reached to tear it from her, she shook her head and began to unbutton the remaining buttons slowly, with a teasing smirk on her face all the while. He growled in frustration, and she only laughed, undoing the buttons at last and throwing the garment aside as well.

Then, slowly and gently, he placed his length at her opening and entered her, his each movement tender, as he was far too sleep-addled to be fast or rough. She inhaled sharply and breathed another laugh, for their sex was seldom so gentle and slow, and she loved these mornings when they would awake side by side, hungry for one another but too tired to be overly passionate or hasty. She adored the slowness and the gentleness, and so she laced her arms around the back of his neck and held onto him, sighing in delight when he dove himself deeper into her, filling her completely and leaving no part of her inner walls untouched. As the months had passed, they'd discovered more and more about one another during their lovemaking, and she thought to herself, then, that they had perfected their rhythm, that their bodies were seamlessly synchronized with one another, that he knew just where and when to touch her to drive her mad with lust. She adored it all, and her heart felt so full at that moment that she could not help but giggle in between her soft moans, which he quickly but a stop to by halting his movements for a moment and capturing her lips with his, stifling her laughter and cries of pleasure. Aching for more, she shook her head and bucked her hips beneath him, and, knowing what she wanted, he began again, driving himself into her slowly, his member hot, thick, swelling inside her as he pumped in and out.

After only a few minutes longer, she reached her peak, whimpering softly as tiny jolts of pleasure wracked her body, and hardly a second later, he climaxed as well, her spasming walls feeling as though they were drawing him in deeper with each plunge, taking in his seed with all eagerness. Then, their early morning lovemaking finished, they collapsed into each other's arms and held one another in contented silence as they slowed their breathing and calmed themselves. After a minute had passed, Éponine rested her chin on her hand and grinned, placing a hand upon his cheek and laughing softly.

"I told you it's never too early," she chortled, and he looked over at her, his face as inexpressive as always but his eyes flooded with affection for the girl beside him.

Abruptly, she sat up and hopped over the side of the bed, fully nude but unashamed of her state, and sauntered over to his side of the bed, bidding him to get up as well. When he did, the half of his leg that was missing came into full view, but the sight did not faze either one of them anymore, and she simply handed him his wooden leg and turned away to dress herself, knowing he did not want her to help him put it on. Once he had, he stood and walked over to where she stood, lacing herself up in her undergarments and pulling a comb through her hair. He set about dressing himself as well, and, just as he'd pulled on his trousers, she strolled over, took out one of his white shirts, and, with a sly grin on her face, placed it on him and began to button it. Once she'd finished, she walked over to the mirror and started to clothe herself in a plain yellow dress she'd bought in the months since Javert had left his work. She began to reach behind her to button it, but hardly a second later, she felt his rough, calloused hands take hold of the buttons instead, and once he'd finished doing them, he brought his lips to the part of her shoulder that was still bare and laid them upon her soft skin.

She shivered at the sensation, and glanced up at the mirror at their reflections. His eyes were closed behind her, his lips traveling languidly along her shoulder, each kiss speaking of love and adoration, and again, she shuddered, leaning her head back against Javert and allowing her body to fall into him, his to do what he would with her. After a moment, she turned her head so that she could gaze upon him, and looked up at him with happiness sparkling in her eyes.

"Tell me again," she breathed, as his lips drew closer and closer to her neck, and he did not have to think twice to know what she wanted to hear.

When he spoke, his voice was deep, so deep that it forced yet another shiver up her spine, "I love you." He tightened his hold on her, and her heart began to pound quickly within her chest, for he spoke with a sort of quiet intensity she'd scarcely ever heard from him before, "Every second of every minute, of every hour of every day." Javert brought his mouth close to her ear, then told her once again, "I love you."

For a long moment, she simply stared into his eyes, thinking to herself how odd it was that he, who had been reluctant to tell her of his feelings for her for so long, should now be so willing to say it, so determined to tell her that he loved her and ensure she never forgot it.

Then, with a little grin, she laced her fingers through his and sighed contentedly, "And that is how it shall be now…until forever." They remained like that in blissful silence for a moment, wrapped up in one another's arms, until she heard her stomach growl for food within her. Realizing just how famished she was, she stood up all at once, straightened her back, then took his hand and pulled him into their kitchen, "Let us break our fast, monsieur."

They did so, eating a simple breakfast of pastries, a thin soup, and a few bits of leftover cheese and fruit, for they lived frugally and did not often eat rich meals. Once they were finished, he cleared away the dishes and joined her on their little sofa, where she had buried herself underneath a blanket and picked up a book she'd been reading the day before about the history of France and its surrounding countries. She beckoned for him to join her, and he obliged, taking a seat beside Éponine and allowing her to throw part of the blanket over him as well. Then, she moved closer to Javert and settled in next to him with a contented sigh, picking up the book again and tracing each word she read with her finger, like a child discovering them for the first time.

"I would like to travel one day," she told him with a wistful smile, as she envisioned herself sailing across the ocean to places strange and exotic, "My sister and I always used to talk about how we wanted to see America." He said nothing, knowing the idea of them traveling was unlikely, as they were not wealthy and he was no longer a young man able to comfortably traverse long distances. Sensing this, she leaned her head against his shoulder and grinned to reassure him, "But it's all right if we don't, you know. You're here, and I'm here…and this is our home. There's nothing in all those places I can't read about here." She snuggled herself closer to Javert, thought for a moment, then looked up at him suddenly with a raised eyebrow, "Are you happy?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he turned to her with confusion in his eyes, then told her gruffly, "You know that I am happy."

"Then smile," she laughed, "You never have. Not even _once_."

"Éponine-" he began to roll his eyes, but she shook her head and sat up next to him, reaching for his cheeks like a child and attempting to force them to curl upwards into a grin.

"Smile," she urged him, and by the time she'd finally forced his mouth into a smile, it ended up looking like a ridiculous grimace that did not appear even the least bit happy. Éponine chuckled, thinking to herself that he did not seem to be capable of smiling at all, and after a moment she surrendered, chiding him teasingly, "I give up. You're a bore."

Her words seemed to Javert to be a challenge, and so, within seconds, he'd grabbed the arm of her dress and pulled her into his chest, looking as amused as Éponine supposed he was able to look, "I'm a bore, am I?"

She laughed again, leaning her forehead against his and taking his hands, "No. You are never a bore to me. And do you know something?" He furrowed his brow, and she poked his chest with a smirk, "One day… I shall get you to smile."

"You will not," he reiterated, but she refused to listen.

"Yes I will. Just you wait and see."

Éponine returned to her reading shortly thereafter, and it was in that way that they spent the rest of their morning, huddled up underneath a blanket and reading together, perfectly content and requiring nothing but the other's presence beside them.


	2. II

**II**

* * *

Ever since he'd first proposed marriage to her, they'd spoken of the idea often, yet it was almost always Javert who put the idea forward and Éponine who attempted to avoid the topic altogether. It was not that she did not love him, for she did – more than anything, but the idea frightened her for some reason, and she did not know why. Whenever he mentioned it, she was always quick to remind him that she did not need a band of gold upon her finger to know that she was his and he was hers, but in truth, she feared the notion of marriage for reasons she could not understand.

It was forever, so terrifyingly permanent, and she thought to herself that it would perhaps make her feel trapped, held down. Yet at the same time, she knew he would never trap her or be cruel to her, but even so, she resisted, changing the topic whenever it was brought up and seldom ever seriously considering it. Javert persisted, however, and Éponine often suspected that he would never stop bringing it up until they were wed man and wife in the eyes of the law. Javert was not, in fact, overly concerned with the idea of living in sin with a woman to whom he was not married, for he'd never been much of a religious man and did not care if they were frowned upon for residing together whilst unwed. To Javert, it seemed only natural that they ought to be married next, cementing their love for all the world to see, and he could not understand why she was so reluctant to become his wife, since she was already his wife in everything but name.

It was late evening one frigid winter night, and the holidays were but days away, leaving Éponine in rather festive spirits as she sauntered about, adorning their parlor with garland and bits of colored paper she'd cut into various shapes. She'd also attempted to make them a cake to celebrate, though because she'd never had much experience with cooking, it had ended up being less than satisfactory. Still, that hadn't dampened her spirits, and Javert rather enjoyed watching her skip around as merrily as a little child, decorating their home for Christmastide and lighting candles in nearly every corner of the house.

Just as he was entering their parlor from the kitchen that night, he came upon Éponine standing on her tip toes, struggling to place a garland on the mantle over their fireplace, and, after determining she was not tall enough, she began to hop up and down, but had no luck. Thinking this a good opportunity to discuss something with her he'd been very eager to do, he stalked over to where she stood and took the garland from her gently, then placed it where she'd intended and backed away.

Éponine breathed a sigh of relief and turned to him, her hands on her hips and a smile upon her flushed face. The fire roared and crackled loudly behind her in their hearth, lending the room a deep, golden glow, and as Javert took a look around, he found that she'd adorned the place quite elaborately, with bits of garland and colored paper everywhere he looked.

"Do you like it?" she chirped, gesturing to the room around them, and he nodded.

"I do."

"Perhaps next year I won't burn the cake," Éponine told him rather optimistically, and to that, he did not reply. She turned back briefly to adjust the garland after a moment, and when she did, Javert stepped forward and snaked his arms around her waist, holding her firmly to him and listening with satisfaction as she hummed happily and let herself lean back into his embrace.

"_Joyeux Noël_," she told him softly, her body relaxing at the feeling of his touch, which to her felt both powerful and tender at the same time.

He brought his lips close to her ear, and rasped in return, "_Joyeux Noël_, Éponine." He urged her to turn and face him abruptly, and she did so, eyeing him quizzically, as it was clear to her he meant to say something more. Then, with his eyes locked on hers in a steady gaze, he said, "I have something for you."

She furrowed her brow in confusion, for the seriousness in his eyes led her to believe this was not merely some frivolous present; it seemed to be quite important to him, and so she only nodded and watched as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a small, metallic object that gleamed as it was brought into view. When she saw it in its entirety, however, she froze and gulped, every muscle in her body growing tense at once.

"A ring?" she breathed, and Javert nodded.

He cleared his throat, then began at last, "I would kneel, if I were able." He clenched his jaw, thought for a moment, and continued in a low voice, "I fear I am not good with words. But know that I love you, and I would be a devoted husband to you." He moved closer to her, and she swallowed, "Marry me. Be my wife, Éponine. Because I love you." He lowered his face to hers, drawing her closer still to him, "And because I cannot live without you."

Éponine cast her eyes downward, evading his gaze, but when he reached for her little hand and slid the ring – a plain, unembellished gold band – onto her finger, she found she could not resist him or pull away. Never before had he spoken so passionately to her, with such romantic, loving words; she was caught between fear and adoration, in that instant, and she knew not what to say. Upon noticing that she did not look at all like she was glad, he scowled and stated desolately, "You are not happy."

"I…" she took a deep breath and shook her head, "I love you. You know that-"

"But you do not wish for us to be married," he finished for her, and, though it pained her to do so, she nodded. Upon looking up at him, she found that Javert looked almost crestfallen, and she bit her lip, guilt and confusion filling the pit of her stomach.

"I love you," she asserted, placing both her hands on his cheeks and raising her face to his, "I love you, and I will forever, but marriage…" she swallowed and lowered her eyes, "It's so final. So…permanent."

He narrowed his eyes, "We are not permanent."

She shook her head fervently, "No. No, we are, I swear it. But…I am not a wife, don't you see?" She furrowed her brow, "I'm Éponine; not Madame Javert."

"You do not want my name?" he uttered gruffly, and again, she shook her head.

"I don't need it. We are one, and I love you, and I-I don't need a ring to know that." Seeing that he still did not look convinced, she encouraged him to meet her eyes once more, and once he had, she continued, "Perhaps I am not your wife, but I am yours." All of a sudden, Éponine recalled his words to her weeks ago, and she smiled reassuringly at Javert as she recited them, "Every second of every minute, of every hour of every day."

He met her eyes, and she could see in an instant that he no longer looked so disappointed and worried that she did not intend to stay with him. Éponine smiled, placing a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss into which she poured every ounce of passion she could muster within her. She loved him – more than she had ever loved anyone else – and it troubled her to see him think that she did not care for him in the way he cared for her, simply because she did not wish to marry him.

After a moment, she broke away and looked him in the eyes with a playful smirk, "Will you be needing any further assurance that I am yours?"

Upon seeing the mischievous look in her eye, a low, rumbling growl loosed itself from Javert's throat, and he pulled her into him, lifting her up and urging her to wrap her thin legs around him. She did so with a laugh, and he was quick to press her up against a nearby wall and seize her lips with his, every muscle in his body yearning to make her his, to show her how much he did, in fact, adore her. She deepened the kiss with all haste and reached a hand up, running it through his short, greying hair and inhaling sharply when he moved his lips to her neck and ravaged it with harsh, biting kisses that she prayed would leave marks in the morning. With another growl, he snaked his hand between her legs and brought it to the area where her thighs met, which he could feel had already become dampened with arousal. At that, Éponine gasped, her knees weakening and her body beginning to go slack as he touched his fingers gently to her clit and traced tender circles upon it, caressing all the right places in her body almost effortlessly. She shivered and sighed in pleasure when he finally pressed two of his fingers into her, and she glanced up at him with narrowed, lustful eyes.

He, however, was still placing kisses upon her neck, and so she placed her hands on his cheeks and panted, "Look at me." Javert obeyed, and when he did, she steadied her voice and told him firmly, without a hint of doubt in her voice, "I am_ yours_."

His disappointment at the rejected proposal forgotten, Javert captured her lips once more, and was about to lift her up and throw her down onto the nearby sofa when there was a light, frantic knocking upon their front door. Unsure who would be visiting them at this hour, they looked to each other in confusion, but after a moment they made their way toward the door, and, after glancing through the peephole and ensuring they were not in any danger, pulled it open, only to find a young, frail girl standing there, shivering in her rags and hugging her thin arms to her body. When the young thing looked up, Éponine nearly gasped, and in an instant, she recognized her.

"Azelma?" she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief, "What are you doing here?" The girl did not answer for a moment, and Éponine stepped aside, beckoning her to come in, "Come inside. It's freezing out there."

She shook her head, fidgeting nervously, "I can't. They'll have my head if they find out I'm here."

"They?" Éponine shook her head once again, almost entirely forgetting Javert's presence behind her, "Who's they?"

Azelma gulped, hesitated, but finally told her, "Pa and the boys."

"They're…in jail-"

Azelma shook her head, fear evident in her wide brown eyes, "They escaped. Ma helped them, somehow. And 'Ponine…" Azelma moved closer to her, lowering her voice. When she spoke, her voice trembled, "They're angry."

Éponine's heart sank inside her, and she swallowed. She'd not seen her father or Montparnasse or the lot of them in more than a year – not since she'd given the police their location to buy her own freedom – and though she was well aware that if they were ever to be released, they would be far from happy with her, she'd never anticipated that they'd be freed so soon. Surely they wanted revenge for their imprisonment now, and she felt almost dizzy with fear that they would come after her and steal her away from her happy life with Javert, or perhaps even kill the both of them.

"No…" she breathed, then snapped out of it and demanded, "How do you know they're out?"

"I'm back with Ma, now," Azelma admitted quietly, "Oh, 'Ponine, she'll slit my throat if she finds out I was here! I have to go."

"Come live with us," Éponine blurted out suddenly, "Stay here; i-it's not safe out there, not with them."

"The fancy life's not for me, 'Ponine. And besides…" she shrugged, then admitted with a timid glance at Javert, "The Inspector scares me more than Pa ever will."

Suddenly, Azelma turned and took off down the street as fast as her skinny legs could carry her, disappearing into the cold winter night within seconds. Éponine called after her, cried out her name, but the younger girl paid no mind to her, and after a moment, she gave up and closed the door, turning to Javert with panic in her eyes.

"They're going to come for me," she told him frantically, grabbing hold of his shirt and tugging him closer to her, "They're going to come for us! Azelma found us here a-and they'll find us too!"

"Éponine-" he began, but she would not listen and began to pace madly around the parlor.

"They'll kill me. And you." She stopped, closing her eyes and exhaling shakily, "I am so happy here. They'll take me away from you, I know it."

He stalked toward her all at once, taking hold of her arms gently in an effort to calm her but speaking in a deeper, more menacing voice than she'd ever heard from him before, "They will do no such thing." She stopped and looked up at him with wide eyes, and he sneered, pulling her closer still to him, "If they lay a hand on you I will slaughter the lot of them."

"What if you cannot stop them?" she breathed, and he scowled.

"Listen to me," he told her, his voice deep, grave, "There is no one in this world that will be permitted to take you from me. And the moment they set foot in this house," he snarled, "they will find themselves missing that foot."

She lowered her eyes, and a moment passed in silence before she mumbled, "I'm afraid." She looked up at him all at once, and he placed his hand upon her cheek, a frown weighing heavily on his face, "Because I'm so happy here. I only wanted it to be us – just us, forever-"

"And it shall be," he assured her in the gentlest tone he could manage, bringing her into his embrace all at once and pressing his cold lips to her forehead.

Her spirits brightened, she grinned and muttered into his chest, "They are no match for you anyway. You're stronger than every one of them combined, I think."

For a moment Javert was silent, and then he remarked, "Let us hope we will not have to find out."

Éponine pulled away shortly thereafter and strolled over to the fireplace, in front of which she took a seat, and then gestured for him to sit beside her as she reached her hands out to warm them over the glowing flames. He sat behind her and allowed her to lean back against him, and once she'd settled herself into him and warmed her hands, she yawned and closed her eyes, expelling thoughts of her past from her mind as best she could and calming her troubled mind.

"Show me," she said suddenly, and Javert furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What?"

"Show me…how much you love me," she chuckled, "Make me yours."

Javert thought for a moment, then laid his lips on her hair and quickly lowered them to her neck, which he kissed gently, tenderly, with all the love and adoration in the world. Though he was a man of few words, Éponine had leaned over time that he often expressed his emotions in non-verbal ways, in his kisses or in his embraces, and in that instant, she could tell with every kiss that he was declaring his love for her once more, even if he hadn't uttered a word. Then, without warning, he drew away from Éponine and moved before her, peeling back her skirts with narrowed eyes, caressing her skin gently, and watching as she spread her legs, giving him her tacit permission to do what he would. Éponine propped herself up on her elbows and looked on with a grin as he began to kiss the area just above her knee, his cold lips proceeding down her leg until they'd reached the inside of her thigh, and when she felt his hot breath against her sex, she shuddered. She regularly wore open drawers, and so there was no barrier now between his mouth and her opening, but, just as his lips reached her clit, he drew back slightly, then began to kiss the other side of her thigh instead, prompting her to groan in frustration, a rush of desire dampening the area between her legs.

Finally, after teasing her for another moment or so, he brought his mouth to her sex and enveloped it in a deep kiss, savoring the sweet taste of her juices on his tongue and listening contentedly as she moaned aloud and squirmed at his touch. The feeling of his hot mouth upon her nearly drove Éponine mad, and she fell back onto the ground, grabbing onto his head and panting. She arched her back into his touch, her eyes squeezed shut, and he moved his mouth up to her clit and suckled it gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing over her and leaving her barely able to think. Éponine was gasping for breath, panting and moaning, her cheeks flushed dark red and her lips parted in an 'o' shape. Again, he drove his tongue inside her, exploring her with his mouth and enjoying it thoroughly when she began to tremble, as he pushed past her folds and into the deepest parts of her. Before him now, she was nothing but a quivering, moaning mess, and she pressed her thighs tightly around his head as he continued his tongue's tender, masterful ministrations. Her mind was lost, her thoughts only on the fiery sensations coursing through her body, and when she tried to speak, her words were nothing but nonsensical cries and moans.

After a moment, Éponine composed herself long enough to breathe, "Yours…" she swallowed, then opened her eyes to look down at him and rasped, "I am yours."

As he heard those words once more, he placed his lips on her clit and suckled it fiercely, raking his teeth across the sensitive bud as he dipped his tongue into her sex one last time, causing her body to finally lose control and erupt into orgasm. She threw her head back and bit her lip to keep from screaming, and Javert relished in the feeling of each shudder in her body that passed through to him, as he continued to lap her up as though he'd never tasted something so delicious. To him she was sweeter than honey, more essential to his survival than water, and he would never tire of the taste of her on his tongue, of the feeling of her fingers burying themselves in his hair, of the sound of her whimpers and cries as she reached the epitome of all bliss. He continued the movements of his mouth as she rode the waves of her orgasm, and only after they'd ebbed and died away did he draw back and look upon her, lying on the ground next to the fire and struggling to catch her breath as she was. After a long moment of silence, she opened her eyes, propped herself up on her elbows once more, than fixed her skirts and stared at him with a wry little smirk.

"You…" her grin became wider, "You are very good at that."

After a moment, he got to his feet and took a seat in the armchair beside the fire. She followed shortly thereafter, but stayed on the floor and rested her head against his knee as the flames crackled and roared beside them. They remained together in silence for a few minutes, until Javert took a deep breath and told her, "I will go in the morning to the Prefecture and discover what I can about your father."

She frowned and wished that he hadn't brought it up, as she'd much rather prefer to pretend that her father and his friends were locked away and would be forever. However, she made no mention of it to him, and said only, "You will find them…won't you?"

He scowled, placing a hand on her soft hair and speaking without a hint of hesitation in his voice, "I will do whatever I must until they are locked away, somewhere they will never again see the light of day."

Éponine sighed, glancing up at him and smiling as the flames next to them reflected in her wide eyes, "I am so happy here, with you."

"I am as well," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "And this is how it shall be."

"Just you and I. No one else…" she sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, resting her head against his knee once more, "That is all I need."

After she'd not spoken or moved for a few minutes, Javert looked down at Éponine, and discovered that she'd somehow managed to fall asleep whilst sitting upright, the side of her head resting against his knee, which he knew could not be very comfortable for her. Slowly, he got up from where he sat and picked Éponine up with little difficulty, for, although she'd gained a reasonable amount of weight since her time on the streets, she was still small and very slight of stature, not at all heavy in his arms. With cautious footsteps, he made his way down the hall and into their little bedroom, placing her down on the bed with all the gentleness he could muster and pulling their heavy duvet over her. Then, he turned away to light a fire, and once he had, he strolled back over to their bed and stood beside it, looking upon the slumbering Éponine with a contemplative scowl.

She looked beautiful even as she slept, yet he found his thoughts on other matters entirely: namely, the recent escape of her father and his gang. His frown grew deeper, and he bowed his head slightly, deciding to himself that, if Éponine's father thought to take her away from him, then he had better think again, for there was not a force in the world that could steal his happiness away from him now, when he'd so long lived in misery and solitude. Now that he had had a taste of love and companionship, he did not intend to let it slip away without a fight, and he thought to himself that he would rather put a bullet through his brain than see Éponine taken from him and harmed by the evil that lingered in her past. No, he decided with finality, no one – not Thénardier or the boy Montparnasse or anyone in the world – would lay an ill-meaning hand upon her, so long as there was breath in his body.

She was his, and he was hers, and as he lie beside Éponine that night, he held her tightly, loathe to ever let her go, as if daring anyone to try and take her from him.


	3. III

**III**

* * *

In the morning, Javert awoke to the sound of Éponine retching on the floor beside their bed.

With a frown, he sat up, blinked a few times, and finally glanced down at Éponine, who was clutching the sides of the chamber pot and heaving into it, her white nightgown pooling on the ground around her. After realizing what was happening, he got up from where he sat and stooped down beside her as best he could, as he'd not yet put on his leg and had to stumble along quite awkwardly to reach her. Once there, he reached his hands out gently and moved her hair away from her face, holding it back as her illness began to subside and her stomach settled. Once it had, she drew away and fell back against the wall, panting and struggling to catch her breath. Javert placed a hand on her cheek and caressed it softly, in an attempt to calm her as best he could. After a moment, her breathing evened out, and she grew still once more.

"It was that terrible cake," Éponine managed a laugh, "Must've made me ill."

"Are you all right?" he asked, afraid she'd come down with something, but she shook her head dismissively.

"Hmm…" she flattened her lips into a line and rested her head against his shoulder, "I'm all right now. But thank you." After a moment, she got to her feet, but the instant she did, a wave of dizziness overcame her all at once, and she stumbled back against the wall, prompting to Javert to rise to his feet as well and furrow his brow, greatly concerned for her wellbeing. The wooziness passed quickly, however, and she blinked several times, then smiled weakly to reassure him, "I-I'm all right. I am. Just… a little dizzy."

"Lie down," he urged her, helping her over to the bed and seating her upon it, then sitting next to her, putting on his leg, and looking over at Éponine once more. While he'd been dressing, she'd buried herself under the covers and closed her eyes as the queasiness and dizziness ran their course and faded, and when he glanced over at her, she smiled to quell his fears once more.

"Stay here," he told her, "I will fetch a doctor for you."

Éponine rolled her eyes, "I don't need a doctor. I'll lie here for a while longer, and it'll pass, I'm sure. Besides…" she smirked, "I wouldn't want to keep you from the Prefecture this morning."

Abruptly, he recalled the events of the night before – when they'd been informed of her father's escape – and he clenched his jaw. Éponine noticed that he seemed to be torn between staying with her and going, and so she reached out and laid a tender hand upon his unshaven cheek.

"Go. I'll be all right here."

"I should not leave you while you are ill."

At that, she scoffed and waved him away with her hand, "I'm not ill! Go. I'll be here when you come back."

Though reluctantly, Javert got to his feet, dressed himself, then returned to kiss her on the cheek and bid her farewell. After that, he put on his coat, left their little home, and took to the streets, watching as light snowflakes from above patterned the ground around him, and wrinkling his nose when they landed on his face. All the while, as he walked, he thought of Éponine, pondering the strangeness of her sudden sickness and praying that she'd not fallen fatally ill somehow. She'd not complained of feeling unwell the night before, however, and the abrupt onset and even more abrupt departure of her sickness confused him. As he drew closer to the Prefecture, such thoughts fled his mind, and he found himself thinking instead of Éponine's father and his companions. He was not a daft man; he knew that the fools would seek revenge on Éponine for their imprisonment, and he intended to do whatever it would take to catch them and lock them away once more, in a place where they could harm neither him nor Éponine. It was to be just them – he and Éponine – forever; he had promised her that no harm would come to her, and he intended to make good on that promise.

He arrived at the Prefecture and stepped inside, demanding to speak to the Préfet as soon as it was possible, and the clerk at the desk, who had easily recognized the man once known as Inspector Javert, nodded fearfully and scurried off to make whatever arrangements were necessary. As he waited, Javert folded his arms and bowed his head, standing in a nearby corner without speaking. After he'd been there for a few minutes, however, a familiar voice sounded out before him, prompting Javert to look up with a frown.

"Is it you? Inspector Javert?"

Upon looking up, he met the eyes of one of his former colleagues: a man hardly a decade younger than him, called Inspector Rousseau. They'd often worked together during Javert's time as an inspector in Paris, and though he'd never much enjoyed the company of the man, he had to admit that the man was much more tolerable than the majority of his old bumbling subordinates. Javert greeted Rousseau with a nod, but did not extend a hand to him and remained where he was.

"Rousseau," he acknowledged the man tensely, straightening his back and assuming his old, familiar air of authority.

"It is certainly nice to see you again. Things have been far more chaotic since your departure." The other man gestured for Javert to walk with him, and, grudgingly, he acquiesced. Rousseau looked sideways at him for a moment, then observed, "Retirement is treating you well, I assume?"

"Retirement," Javert could not help but sneer the word, "It was not a willing retirement." They were silent for a moment, and then, he relented somewhat, "It is."

"I'm glad to hear it. And I must say, you look younger." Rousseau raised an eyebrow, "What is your secret?" Javert said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, and the younger man smirked, "Could it be the great Inspector Javert has found himself a woman?"

Javert scowled at the other man, for he'd never enjoyed speaking of his personal matters, and did not enjoy speaking of them any more now, "What I do now is none of your concern, Rousseau, nor was it your concern before. Though of course," he sent a pointed glare his way, "you seem to believe it is."

"I'm only curious. But very well; I shall speak no more of it. May I ask what has brought you here?"

Javert stopped walking, and Rousseau halted next to him, folding his arms and listening as Javert began to speak, "I have been informed of the escape of a convict called Jondrette, as well as his companions."

"Ah, yes. Patron-Minette, they're called – and those bastards are clever. I've not the slightest idea how they did it, but they escaped La Force a week ago along with a few other men, and we've heard nothing of them since."

"Which other men?" Javert narrowed his eyes.

"One of them calls himself Valade, and another is the son of a wealthy family: the Saint-Hilaire's. Henri, I think his name is. I believe the third is called Prideaux. There was another, but I can't recall his name."

With each name he spoke, Javert stomach twisted more inside him, until he felt as though he would very likely be as ill as Éponine had been earlier that morning. He knew those names; every single one of them was horribly familiar, stirring up memories in his mind that he'd thought were long ago forgotten. Valade, the man Éponine had fooled and brought to Javert so he could be arrested after a series of thefts and assaults. Henri Saint-Hilaire, the sniveling boy who'd killed a child and an old man in cold blood. Prideaux, the man he'd promised to free and then sent to prison nonetheless. He could not be sure who the fourth was, but he was almost certain that it was the former crime lord called Pourciau, who had murdered the child Louise's father after the man had left him behind to turn his life around. Memory after memory flashed into his mind, until he found himself overwhelmed and unable to form coherent thought. In the end, the only clear thought in his mind was one that shook him to the core with dread, leaving him frozen, his eyes staring blankly ahead and his limbs heavy, numb.

Those men had but one thing in common: a grudge against himself and Éponine, and he did not doubt that they had already joined forces with Patron-Minette to seek vengeance.

After a long moment, he hissed, "All these men were men I locked away."

"And that is why the Prefecture is doing everything in their power to find them. Rest assured, Javert, that we will bring them to justice once more-"

"You fool," he sneered, "If the men here had done their job they would not be free in the first place." Rousseau said nothing, knowing well he would never be able to placate Javert, and the older man growled, "The leader of the Patron-Minette is the father of my old informant. She is in danger as well."

A realization dawned on Rousseau's face, and his eyes widened slightly, "So she is the woman you've found?"

Javert barred his teeth and roared, his voice deep and menacing, silencing Rousseau in an instant, "Dammit, Rousseau! I care not if they want revenge on me, but I will not see her harmed. Send every man you have after them. Tell the Préfet that it is of the utmost importance, and if he will not do so then I shall speak to him myself." He felt a sudden need to return to Éponine, to ensure no one had harmed her even in his brief absence, and so he looked once more at the younger man and barked, "I must be on my way."

Before the other man could say another word, Javert turned and was gone, leaving Rousseau behind in a stunned silence. With a heavy head and heart, Javert stalked down the streets toward their house as fast as he could, thoughts churning like a hurricane in his mind, and when he came upon their little home, he opened the front door quickly and rushed to the bedroom, terrified that he would find Éponine stolen away or murdered. The moment he came upon their room, however, and found her lying safe and sound in the bed with the covers pulled over her, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a deep breath of relief to see that she was safe, that she had not been harmed while he'd been away.

As soon as she saw him enter, Éponine sat up and smiled sleepily at him, but her smile quickly crumpled into a frown when she saw the wild, panicked look about him, "What is it?"

"I…" he found himself at a rare loss for words, and after a moment, he shook his head, breathing heavily and grinding his teeth together. When he spoke, his voice nearly trembled, "I will not let you out of my sight again."

"What happened?" she furrowed her brow, approaching him slowly and shaking her head in confusion, "What's going on?"

"They've all escaped," he rasped, closing his eyes and swallowing, "Valade, Prideaux, Pourciau, the Saint-Hilaire boy." He growled, drawing away from Éponine and making his hands into furious fists at his sides, "They escaped with Patron-Minette. With your father."

"What?" she breathed, her eyes widening with terror, "But they're all…All the men I helped you send away." She shook her head and gulped, "Valade will want to kill me – a-and the rest will want to kill you." Éponine walked closer to him, resting one hand upon his shoulder and looking up at him fearfully, "What will we do?"

Javert thought for a moment, then told her lowly, "I will return to the police for a time, and I will find them. And no one," he pulled her close to him, his voice deep and gravelly, "will harm either of us. I will not allow it." Javert noticed that she did not look much encouraged, and he frowned, "What is it?" She said nothing, and he lowered his eyes, sensing what she was thinking, "You wish to leave Paris."

Though that had been precisely what she was pondering, Éponine shook her head, "No. I cannot spend my whole life running away from them. From my father." She bit out a laugh, turning away from him and suddenly growing serious, "I want to stay here. And I want to help you find them."

"Éponine-" he began to protest, but she silenced him with a glare. It disappeared quickly, however, and she strolled over to Javert, wrapping her arms around him and resting her forehead against his chin.

"If we run, they win," she licked her lips and looked up at him, "We will not let them win."

"If anyone lays a hand on you I will kill them," he growled, but she shook her head, signaling to him that she did not wish to speak of it any longer.

"They won't get the chance," Éponine whispered, mere seconds before she raised her face up and touched her lips ever so gently to his, reassuring him wordlessly that she was his and he was hers, and that there was no force in the world – not her father, or Montparnasse, or Valade and Pourciau, or the Devil himself – that could part them now.

* * *

As the weeks passed, Éponine's illness failed to stop.

Knowing he would worry, she hid it from him, and emptied the contents of her stomach in the rubbish bin in their kitchen instead to avoid him seeing or hearing her in the morning. She could not say what was wrong with her, but, she decided, she did not have time to worry about such things when there was a pack of vengeful criminals after the both of them – and neither did he. It was not getting progressively worse, however, and otherwise, she felt completely fine, so she did not see the need to trouble him with it when his every thought was already very much troubled by the escape of the Patron-Minette. Javert, meanwhile, remained unaware of her persistent sickness and worried not at all, as she seemed perfectly healthy to him and had given him no reason to believe otherwise. He spent most of his days hunting the Patron-Minette and their associates in every way he knew, yet they always seemed to slip through his fingers, and with each passing day, he grew more and more frustrated with the lot of them. The Préfet had assigned a few men to locate them, but Javert knew well that the only way anything would ever be done right was if he were to do it, and so he did, devoting most of his hours to finding and bringing them to justice once more.

One afternoon, however, he arrived home to find Éponine curled up into a ball on the window seat in their bedroom, clutching her knees to her chest and peering outside with a blank look on her face. He watched her from the doorway for a minute, unaccustomed to seeing her look so utterly despondent, and when he stepped inside, she looked at him as though she was afraid and tucked her chin into her knees, assuming a rather childlike stance before him.

Immediately, he sensed something was amiss.

"Éponine?" he called her name cautiously, and when she did not look at him, he asked, "What is the matter?"

He approached her slowly, a frown set on his face, and a long minute passed before Éponine finally opened her mouth to speak, "I…I've been ill." He said nothing, furrowing his brow in confusion, and so she continued, "For weeks. It wasn't only that one morning."

"You did not tell me," he stated, and she chewed her lip nervously.

"I knew you would worry," she mumbled, "And I knew you were already so worried about my father, and-"

He growled without meaning to, cutting her off harshly, "You should have told me."

"I…" her voice cracked, and immediately, he regretted his gruffness. Éponine gulped, shrinking away from him and curling further into herself, "I'm sorry." Javert lowered his eyes, and for a moment, they remained there in silence, until she began to speak once more, "I went to the Hôtel-Dieu today, while you were gone."

"What did they say?" he edged the question toward her gently, "Are you…ill?"

"No I am not_ ill_," she snapped, as though she couldn't understand how he could be so oblivious. Then, without thinking, she spat, "I am with child."

Her words rang out like a gunshot in Javert's head, and in an instant, the room became deathly silent. Stunned and entirely incapable of speaking, he made his way slowly over to their bed as if in a trance and sat down upon it. There was a look of bewilderment about him, his jack slackened ever so slightly, and he was glancing around the room as if doing so would somehow help him comprehend this news. They'd never spoken of children, nor had they ever anticipated that such a thing would or could ever happen to them, and he could honestly say he'd seldom thought about it as well, as he had never known how to deal with children and did not desire any of his own. Javert supposed he ought to have thought about it, however, for they made love often and took no precautions to keep her from bearing a child, and he cursed himself for not pondering the possibility, for being so surprised by this. He clenched his jaw tightly and cast his eyes downward, his thoughts rushing so quickly within his mind that he could not make sense of the lot of them. When at last he did look up at Éponine, he found that she did not look at all pleased by the idea of having a child, and her apparent misery only served to trouble him further.

"I never thought about it," she rasped after a lengthy moment of silence, "I didn't think I could… not after I was starving for so long." Éponine glanced over at him then, and she frowned, "You're angry. I knew you would be."

He shook his head, however, for he was far too shocked to be mad, "I am not angry."

Éponine swallowed, then bowed her head and admitted softly, "I never thought about it. I should've. I-I don't know why I didn't."

Again, there was silence, and Javert lowered his eyes, "I do not know what to say."

"Of course you don't know what to say! You never do!" she bit out, her sudden fury startling him. All in less than five seconds, her face showed fear, then sorrow, and then finally rage, "But if you don't want it then good God justsay _something_!"

Abruptly, she sprung up from where she sat and stormed off into the hall, her eyes brimming with furious tears and her knees trembling though she endeavored to be strong. With all haste, he followed her out into the hallway, and before she could disappear into the parlor, he reached out and grabbed her arm gently, "I did not say that."

"Let me go," she hissed, but he refused to yield.

"I did not say that," he repeated, more forcefully this time, and she scowled, trying with all her might to stop up her sorrow.

"But it was what you were thinking…wasn't it?" her voice lost its power all at once, dropping down to hardly a whisper to his ears, and when he noticed how glassy her eyes had become, his eyes softened.

"No," he told her honestly, and the sincerity in her voice prompted her to look up at him.

"I was," she confessed with a tremor in her voice she could do nothing to fight off, "I-I was thinking it." This caught Javert off guard, and a look of confusion crossed his features. Éponine took a breath to steady her voice, "This isn't what I wanted. We said it would be us, just… us-"

"It will still be us," he asserted.

"And a child. I don't like children, and I never wanted any, and-"

Her ramblings were interrupted when, without warning, Javert pulled her into his embrace all at once, stealing the words right off her tongue and leaving her silent. For a moment she tensed, but it took her only a second to wrap her arms around him in return and hold on as tightly as she could, as though someone might try to tear her away. She buried her head into his chest and squeezed him firmly, clutching his body to hers for dear life, and Javert thought that he had never felt her hold onto him with such desperation. They remained like that for what felt like an eternity, and when Éponine finally broke away, she sniffled and looked up at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Again, he showed confusion, and she shook her head, "I'm sorry I'm not happy. I should be." Her hand crept down to her stomach, and she placed it there with a gulp, "I… want to be." Finally, she withdrew her hand away all at once as if she'd been burned by the contact and closed her eyes, "But I'm not."

With a frown, Javert moved closer to her, and, with an almost childlike curiosity about him, he reached out and laid his large hand upon her stomach just as she had done only seconds ago, bewildered and struggling to understand the idea of this child's existence. Javert furrowed his brow, and for a moment he pondered how strange it was, that this new, unseen life should have come from almost nothing at all. As soon as he touched her, however, Éponine gulped, seeing the curiosity in his eyes and knowing in an instant that he was not at all as bothered as she was by the idea of the coming child. Guilt settled heavily like a rock in her stomach, and she felt a wave of dizziness overcome her as she felt his rough, calloused hand upon her belly, touching it gently, inquisitively, with all the tenderness in the world.

"Stop," she croaked, but when she tried to pull away, he placed another hand softly on her arm, encouraging her to stay still. Overwhelmed by it all and beginning to panic, Éponine shook her head wildly and jerked back all at once, ripping his hand from her stomach and backing away, "_Stop_." Éponine noticed the hurt in this eyes, and she gulped, "Don't do that. Don't do that again."

"Éponine-" he began, but she'd already stalked away from him and back into their bedroom, where she promptly took a blanket from the bed, wrapped it around herself, and plopped down on the window seat once more. With trepidation, Javert approached Éponine, and she eyed him warily all the while, appearing as though she was ready to flee at any second should he say or do the wrong thing. Slowly, he lowered himself down beside her and moved as close to her as he dared, then nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she did not pull away or run.

For a while he did not know what to say, and when he finally did, his voice was deep and grim, "Marry me."

"Don't-" she muttered, but Javert continued.

"The child will be born a bastard," his words were grave but true, and she swallowed, "Perhaps not in our eyes, but in the eyes of the law, and of the world."

Silently, Éponine had to admit that he was right; though they would not scorn their child for being born out of wedlock, the rest of the world would – would alienate and mock them – and she knew that neither she nor Javert would want such a thing for any child of theirs, when they themselves had experienced alienation and mockery too many times to count. She took a deep breath, her head spinning, the world seeming as though it was rushing at a thousand miles around her and she was unable to move.

"It is all happening too quickly," she breathed, overwhelmed by the idea of a child and marriage happening so soon, when before she hadn't thought they would ever happen at all, "I-I don't want to be married only because we must." Éponine looked up at him, then, and when she did, he noticed how dazed she seemed, "I need time but I don't have any. I'm nearly three months gone already, they said."

"Then take time," he told her, placing his hand upon her chin and urging her to look up at him, "I will wait months, years – decades if I must. And if we are never to marry," his voice grew quieter, his countenance serious, "then I will die happily, so long as you are here."

She found herself unable to speak upon hearing his words, and it took her a moment to recover her voice, "I don't want to talk about you dying." They lapsed into silence, and she was the one to break it by admitting, "I am afraid."

"A child is nothing we cannot handle," he spoke confidently, though there was a part of him that was just as unsure as Éponine – perhaps even more, "And we have everything we need to provide for one."

She shook her head, "I'm afraid I won't be… happy anymore. And I've been so happy…" Éponine bit her lip, "I don't want it to end."

"Perhaps we will be happier," he said, though it failed to convince Éponine, and in reply, she only turned away from him and buried her face further into the blanket.

Perhaps she would be happier, she thought, but part of her had already decided that she would not, and so she said nothing, instead only wrapping her arms around her knees and closing her eyes once more.


	4. IV

**IV**

* * *

As the days went by, Éponine withdrew further and further into herself, seldom speaking to Javert and never allowing him close to her for more than a few moments.

All the while, she remained unaware of how much it pained Javert when she brushed him aside and refused to speak to him, but, as was the norm for him, he gave no outward sign of his emotions, and so he wallowed in loneliness without a word, always shrugged away when he tried to embrace her yet always returning faithfully, like a puppy running back to its master though it knew it would be kicked. After a week had passed for them in this manner, Javert began to hunt once more for the Patron-Minette, exercising his frustrations in his work and devoting himself entirely to finding Éponine's father and his companions. Thoughts of Éponine and the child entered his mind frequently, however, and left him unable to focus very well at all, for he could not seem to stop contemplating the notion that she was to have a child, that he was to be a father; a notion he had once abhorred. He did not abhor it now, however, and in all honesty, the idea intrigued him more than anything. In fact, it seemed to be Éponine who abhorred it, who would not even speak of the baby and seemed to fancy pretending it did not exist. He did not know how to reach her, what to say, and so, as he always had, he said nothing, though it hurt him more each day to be treated so coldly by Éponine.

One morning, however, as he was walking by their bedroom just as he was preparing to leave for the day, he heard the all too familiar sound of Éponine retching, yet this time, he could hear soft, muffled sobs in between her bouts of sickness. He stopped at the doorway and peered inside, and when he did, he saw that she was once again heaving into the chamber pot, but now, her eyes were rimmed with red and her shoulders were quaking, and he knew in an instant that she was crying. He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, then stepped inside though he suspected she would ask him to leave. She was unable to speak, however, and could not order him to leave, and so he walked up behind her and lowered himself awkwardly on the floor beside her. Then, like he had before, he swept her soft hair up in his hands and held it back, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as he listened to the sound of her quiet sniffles and cries. It troubled him to see her be so violently ill, yet he knew it was a result of her pregnancy and there was little he could do about it. He could not take away her illness, could not make her perfectly happy and well again, and he despised the idea that he could do nothing but watch as she went from day to day in misery. Once Éponine's stomach had settled, he reached into his pocket and offered her his handkerchief, which she took from him gratefully. Finally, after a moment of silence, she turned to look at Javert, her brown eyes wide and shiny with tears, and before she could stop it, her lower lip trembled.

"This isn't what I wanted," she hiccupped, the foul taste of vomit in her mouth making her want to gag once more. She sniffed and shook her head, burying her face into his chest and collapsing against him, unable to sit upright on her own any longer. With a heavy heart, he frowned, but placed a gentle hand on her hair even so and began to stroke it lightly as she cried into his chest. In the days since she'd learned of her pregnancy, he'd only seen her cry once, and for a moment he cursed himself for giving her a child she so obviously did not want, and had not been ready for. It had been created by their love, however; it was a piece of both of them, and for that he supposed he held affection for it already. Yet she did not seem to, and in that instant, he knew not what to do, how to make her happy again, like she'd been before.

"Tell me what to do," he rasped.

"W-what do you mean?" she sniffed.

"You are unhappy," Javert uttered lowly, "I wish to change that."

She looked up at him, and, out of instinct, he reached his hand up and brushed a tear away from underneath her eye, "I…I don't know."

"Talk to me," he growled, tightening his hold on her and raising his voice, "Do not push me away."

"There is nothing to say," she croaked.

"There must be," he hissed, shaking her gently, bewildered and desperate to understand her.

All at once, without warning, she got to her feet and stalked over to their wardrobe, where she pulled out a dark red dress, tossing it over on the bed and then beginning to rid herself of her nightdress. Once she'd shucked it and was standing nude before him, he looked upon her naked form for the first time in weeks, and found his eyes draw to her stomach almost immediately. Since she was only three months gone, the curve of her belly was not overly conspicuous, yet it was defined enough for him to notice quite easily on her small frame, and the sight left his mind reeling, a strange feeling festering in the pit of his stomach. When Éponine glanced over at him, she noticed his eyes upon her stomach and gulped, throwing on her undergarments and corset with all haste and taking her midsection out of view. She did not often wear corsets or anything of the sort, yet all she could think of now was hiding the small bulge in her stomach so no one – including she herself – could see it, so that it was as good as nonexistent.

"Lace me up," she ordered coldly, and he obliged, walking over to her and taking hold of the strings, then tying and pulling them tightly. It was not tight enough for her, however, and so she commanded, "Tighter."

He frowned, not thinking it wise but obeying nonetheless, then yanked the strings harder even though it was obvious they were not meant to be any tighter. Still, Éponine was not satisfied, and she found herself wholly consumed by the need to hide her stomach, to erase the curve that'd formed there in recent days and render it invisible.

"Tighter," she said again, though she could hardly breathe now and was in a great deal of pain, her tender breasts aching and straining against the fabric.

"Éponine-" he began to protest, but she cut him off.

"Tighter!" she wheezed, but he refused to move, and after a moment, she turned to him, her world beginning to spin wildly because her restricted breathing. Blinking and struggling to stay upright, she stumbled over to the full-length mirror and glanced down at her stomach, only to be dismayed once more by what she saw. The swell of her belly was mostly concealed in the relentless grip of the corset, but to her, it still looked terribly obvious, and she closed her eyes, glancing away and hugging her arms to her body sorrowfully.

"I told you to pull tighter," she breathed, placing a hand on her chest as she gasped for breath, "Tighter…" All at once, she fell back onto the bed, panting wildly and desperately trying to untie her corset, "I can't breathe."

After wrestling with the strings for a few interminable moments, she freed herself from the corset's grasp and found herself able to breathe again, though each inhalation was frantic, panicked, as though she would shortly be denied air once more. All the while, Javert only watched, bewildered by Éponine's wild actions and apparent tangled state of mind. He began to take a step towards her, but she shook her head and looked away, "Leave." She swallowed, her voice becoming nothing but a whisper, "Leave, please."

He shook his head, and sneered before he could think to speak calmly to her, "You will not speak to me. You will hardly look at me." He exhaled sharply and clenched his jaw, "We cannot carry on like this."

"I know," she said softly, unable and unwilling to fight with him now. On unsteady knees, she rose to stand, folding her arms and staring blankly out the window.

In that instant, Éponine's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and not a single one seemed clear to her. She was overwhelmed, scared, angry – so many emotions at once that she could not seem to understand a single one of them. She wanted to be happy; she wanted to be happy perhaps more than she wanted anything else, but when she tried to force herself to be joyful, she only found herself growing more and more miserable. She wished she could be overjoyed about the coming child and watch happily as the curve of her stomach grew, but she could not. She was not fit to be a mother – certainly not when she'd never had a proper one herself. Mme. Thénardier had been kind to her once, back when she was a girl, but that had been so very long ago that Éponine couldn't honestly say she remembered what a mother's love felt like, and surely, if she could not remember what a mother's love was, she could not give it to someone else. The idea of carrying a person inside her disconcerted Éponine greatly as well, and the notion of childbirth frightened her more still, as she knew it to be messy, painful, bloody; perhaps even fatal if something went wrong. Yet she wanted to be happy – she desperately wanted to be happy – and so she tried to convince herself that she was, but it never worked, regardless of how hard she tried.

"I want to be happy," she whispered aloud, and Javert took a step toward her with a deep scowl on his face. Éponine closed her eyes, "That's all I want."

"Then _be_ happy," he rasped, approaching Éponine and wrapped one of his arms around her from behind once he was close enough to do so. When Javert spoke, his voice was low, gruff, "We are together, and safe. And the child…" he felt her tense in his arms, and so he softened his tone, "The child shall be a part of both of us." He lowered his eyes, then remarked dismally, "Part of me for you to have once I am gone."

She swallowed and turned back to look at him, "Don't say that."

Javert said no more, and instead, he reached tentatively for her hand, entwining their fingers and, ever so cautiously, bringing their hands toward her stomach, where he laid them tenderly and clasped his hand protectively over her belly, with a gentle strength that weakened Éponine's knees. She gulped and started to wiggle her way out of his embrace, but when he tightened his hold on her slightly, Éponine found herself beginning to relax and lean back into him against her will. He pressed his hand to her stomach more firmly then, and when she felt the firm bulge forming just beneath her clothing, she swallowed.

"I can't do it," she blurted out all at once, "I don't know… how."

He thought for a moment, then told her, "I do not either." Silence overcame them for a moment, until he pulled her closer and brought his mouth to her ear, "But we shall learn."

Éponine looked at him with a shaky smile, and when he pulled her closer and she did not pull away, he knew that her spirits had been lifted, her depression ended, and he was so grateful in that moment to be able to hold her again that he could hardly speak. Though he was overjoyed, however, he gave no outward sign of it, and instead only held her tighter, clutching her body to his as if he did not intend to let her go. Out of the blue, however, there was a knock upon their front door, and she pulled away with a look of terror on her face, convinced that it was her father and his gang come to kill them both.

He flattened his lips into a line, "Wait here."

Javert straightened his back and raised his chin, marching toward the door, and, after taking a deep breath, pulling it open with a rather menacing look upon his face. Half-prepared to attack as he was, his eyes were narrowed and his mouth curled up into a hideous snarl, and when the person on the other side of the door looked upon him, they backed away slightly in fear.

When Javert realized who it was, however, he only scowled and demanded, "What is it, Rousseau?"

The younger man, who had looked rather startled, relaxed somewhat, and, knowing Javert did not like doing so, did not dance around his reasons for coming here, "I came to find you. There is something I believe you will want to see, that a few of my men found early this morning." Javert saw the man look past him, into the foyer, and when he turned, he found that Éponine had followed him to the door, having dressed and tidied herself. Rousseau nodded politely at her, then looked to Javert once more, "She is your former informant, I trust?"

Upon noticing that the man did not look at all scandalized, he folded his arms and nodded, "Yes."

"She will want to come as well, then," he spoke seriously, gravely, "I believe this concerns her too."

Javert cleared his throat, "She is in no condition to do so."

"I can speak for myself," Éponine bit out from behind him, stepping in front of Javert and glaring at him out of the corner of her eye, "And I am perfectly fine."

Javert frowned, then looked to Rousseau and said, "Go. We will follow in a moment."

The other man nodded and turned, stalking off down the street, and Javert waited until he was out of earshot to continue, "You cannot come, Éponine. The child-"

"Good God!" she scoffed, her cheeks flushed with indignation, "I am pregnant; not crippled! Am I nothing more than a vessel for the child to you now?" He said nothing, taken aback by her harshness, and she folded her arms, "Let me come with you." Upon seeing that Javert did not look convinced, she lowered her voice, "It may be about my father. And if it is I want to know."

"I do not want you put in harm's way," he stated, and she gave him a little half-smirk.

"And I will not be, so long as you are there."

Though it was with great reluctance, Javert nodded, and, with another wry smile, Éponine looped her arm through his and led him down the street after Rousseau.

* * *

After walking for quite some time, the three came upon an old, derelict tenement hall, and the instant they did, an odd feeling came over Éponine. Abruptly, she stopped out front of it, glancing upward, and when Javert noticed, he frowned, "What is it?"

"Nothing. I…" she shook her head, "It looks familiar, that's all."

Éponine shook off the feeling and stepped inside behind Rousseau, who led them up a few flights of stairs and then to one of the little flats. One of the officers milling around the place let him in, and the moment Javert and Éponine entered, they found themselves surrounded by a room in utter disarray. There was an overturned table and a chair lying on its side, and a rug that looked as though it had been strewn about in a fight as well. In the middle of the room, however, they came upon a body – and the instant they did, Éponine and Javert froze.

It was the woman called Marie, the mother of the murdered boy Charles whose death they'd investigated so very long ago. Yet now she was lying pale and lifeless on the ground, her throat slashed open just as her son's had been. Éponine nearly gasped in horror as she took in the grisly sight before her. The woman was lying in a pool of her own blood, and when Éponine smelled the horrid, metallic scent of it, she felt her stomach lurch. It was soaking into the floorboards, absorbing itself into the rug, and the sight forced a spell of wooziness over her once more.

Beside her, Javert clenched his jaw and exhaled sharply, "Good God."

"Did you know this woman?" Rousseau asked, and Javert nodded.

"Her name was Marie. She was the mother of the murdered Saint-Hilaire boy, Charles," he stated grimly.

"This was his killer's doing, then," the other man said. Again, Javert nodded.

"Henri Saint-Hilaire slit the throats of his grandfather and half-brother," he stated, then flattened his lips into a line, "Yes. This was his doing."

All at once, Javert found his eyes drawn to a small patch of blood near the bottom of Marie's dress, and when he raised it ever so slightly over her ankle, he found that there was a bloody 'M' and a 'V' carved into her flesh there, a gruesome sort of signature that made his stomach turn in disgust. The instant he saw the familiar initials, he froze, grinding his teeth together so hard that his jaw began to ache. Sensing his distress, Éponine strolled over and looked down at the letters as well, her mouth falling agape and her shoulders going slack.

"It was them too," she breathed, looking to Javert with fear in her eyes, "Montparnasse… and Valade." She exhaled shakily, and then began to glance around as if they were around the corner, waiting to take her life. After a moment, she turned to Javert, "My father was probably there too. And the others. All of them." Éponine shook her head, "That was always 'Parnasse's signature, whenever he'd killed someone. He signed it with a knife."

The room fell prey to silence for a moment, and Rousseau was the one to end it, "There is something else I believe you'll want to see, mademoiselle."

Slowly, Rousseau led Éponine and Javert over to a nearby closet, and when he pulled open the door and pushed aside a few articles of clothing, yet another bloody message was revealed to be scrawled messily on the wall, with the blood of the woman called Marie. Again, Éponine's eyes flew open wide, and she clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming as she looked upon the horrifying, crimson word that had been crudely painted on the wall.

It was her name – Éponine – written on the wall with blood, with droplets running down the wall below the letters and pooling on the floor. She let out an airy half-shriek, and when Javert walked up behind her and saw it as well, he felt his anger grow, fury shooting hot through his veins. She, meanwhile, was paralyzed by terror, and her breathing began to speed up until she was nearly gasping for breath.

"They knew I would be here," she croaked, "They knew you would be here. They killed her and they're going to kill us too." Éponine's eyes began to dart around the room once more, "What if they are here now? What if this was a trap?" Javert took a step toward her, in an effort to calm her, but she backed away and started toward the door, "We have to get out of here. I…" she felt nausea and dizziness overcome her without warning at the sight and scent of the blood, and she stumbled backwards a bit before steadying herself, "I can't stand the smell of it."

On trembling legs, Éponine scurried out of the flat, and, after glancing at Rousseau and ordering the man to finish investigating without him, he took off after her, descending the stairs as quickly as his wooden leg would allow. She, on the other hand, had already covered quite a bit of ground, and it was only after hurrying along for what seemed like an hour that he managed to catch up to her, just as she was pulling open the door to their little home once more. Éponine did not hold the door for him, however, and instead she dashed off inside, with Javert following as quickly as he could behind her. Upon entering their house, he heard the all too familiar sound of retching come from their bedroom for the second time that morning, and, after taking a deep breath, he stalked into their bedroom, only to find her on her knees once more, her stomach lurching painfully as she leaned over the chamber pot. Before he could hold her hair or place a consoling hand on her back, however, her illness ceased, and she fell back against the wall, breathing heavily and struggling to calm her ailing stomach.

After a long moment, she managed to steady her breathing, and when she had, she swore under her breath, "Dammit." Éponine reached up a hand and wiped off her mouth with a scowl, "I hate being ill." She seemed to remember what had just happened, and she rose to stand all at once, beginning to pace frantically about the room, "They want to kill me – and you. That message…on the wall-"

"Calm yourself," he barked without thinking, and when he saw her frown grow deeper, he remembered himself and softened his voice, "Worrying will harm the child."

At that, Éponine looked over at him in surprise, "The child…" she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, "You're right." She stalked toward him all at once, then told him gravely, "But they're going to kill again."

"How do you know?"

"They won't stop at one. I know them," she said, "They'll taunt you. They'll play like it's a game." She paused, and then declared, "I am going to help you catch them."

He shook his head, "Not now. I cannot let you endanger yourself now."

"But I know them. They were my family once," she asserted, "What else would you have me do? Sit around here all day?"

"If it is what is safe-"

Éponine scowled, her eyes burning black with anger, "So you think that now I am carrying your child I have to do your bidding? Do you mean to… lock me away here, forbid me to leave?" Her voice grew smaller, softer, "I do not want to be trapped."

"I am not trying to trap you here," he growled, "For God's sake, listen to me." Éponine clenched her jaw and frowned once more, but obeyed, and he exhaled sharply, "If something were to happen to you and the child, I would not be able to bear it. I will not lose you now." He lowered his voice, "Either of you."

They were quiet for a moment, and once it had passed, Éponine raised her face to his and pressed her forehead against his forehead with a sigh, "You will not lose us. I will help you find them-" Javert began to open his mouth to protest, but was silenced with a pointed glare, and after a second she continued, "And then there will be no one to take me away from you."

"Do not involve yourself, Éponine. For the sake of the child, _do not_ involve yourself," he persisted, but she shook her head.

"It's the only way this will ever end! The police don't know Patron-Minette like I do."

"I will not let you out of my sight," Javert asserted, "I will ensure you are never alone."

She scoffed, "I'm not helpless. I can take care of myself, you know." Éponine looked up at him, then, and her eyes softened, "But all right. You may keep an eye on me, if it makes you feel better."

Without warning, she felt herself being pulled into his embrace and encircled by his strong arms, and so she said no more, only allowing herself to be shielded by him, and it was in this way they remained for what seemed like an eternity, without a word, perfectly content in each other's arms. Yet there seemed to be a dark cloud above them, a foreboding sort of heaviness in the air, and though they both tried to cast thoughts of the angry pack of criminals after them out of their minds, neither was able to fully do so, souring their happiness a great deal indeed.


	5. V

**V**

* * *

Just as Éponine had predicted, there was another killing only three weeks later.

This time, it was the old woman that had worked for the man called Cuvier, who had been slain in a manner suspiciously similar to the one in which her former employer had died: her neck had been twisted and broken, her body left none too inconspicuously in her flat, yet Javert knew that the killers wanted him to see it; they gained nothing from hiding their crimes. When Javert and Éponine arrived at the scene of the crime, they found that the place looked almost as though no one had touched it; not a single item in the room was disturbed or out of place, and they knew in an instant that the old woman had not put up much of a fight. She wouldn't have been able to, Javert figured, and he scowled at the sight of her lifeless body, turning away and looking instead around the room, taking in every miniscule detail he could find, to see if any sort of message had again been left for him and Éponine. All the while, however, he could find nothing, and so he folded his arms and clenched his jaw in frustration, pacing angrily around the little apartment though he suspected doing so would be fruitless. The only that that interested him now was the capture of Éponine's father and his companions, and there was, in truth, nothing here for him except another jeer from Patron-Minette.

For a few minutes he remained still, unmoving, his eyes roaming about aimlessly, until he heard a soft sniffing come from across the room, near the old woman's body. He was quick to locate the source of the sound, and once he had, he found that it was none other than Éponine, who had begun to cry at the sight of the old woman's body, clutching her arms to her body and biting her lip. Javert breathed out slowly and made to take a step toward her, but was stopped by a voice behind him.

"She is with child, isn't she?"

Upon turning around, Javert found Rousseau standing behind him, and he glared at the man with all the intensity he was capable of, "There is another dead woman here and a pack of killers loose on the streets. I hardly think this is the time to speak of such things."

"So she is," the other man kept his voice lowered and looked to Javert as if amused, "Good God. That must be a frightening prospect for you."

Javert was silent for a moment, and then, he growled, "How did you know, Rousseau?"

"She was ill at the sight of blood before," he remarked, "And now she is weeping at this woman's death as though she has lost her own mother." He folded his arms as well and came to stand directly beside Javert, "My wife did the same."

"You are a fool," he stated plainly, "And this does not concern you."

"You are right, I suppose. But if her father comes to know of it, he will increase his efforts tenfold. There will be more killings. He will become far more daring."

Javert glanced over at the man and snarled, "Do not act so certain. You know nothing of this."

"But I am certain," he insisted, "The moment he discovers a policeman's put a child in her, he'll go mad."

"Then I shall find him before then," he spat, and then muttered more to himself than anyone else, "And no one will lay a hand on her."

"I do believe you are in love, Inspector," Rousseau observed with a smirk Javert longed to smack right off of his face, "And I do not know whether I ought to be touched or terrified."

At that, Javert sneered again, but Rousseau said nothing and instead only strolled out the door, leaving Javert and Éponine by themselves in the little space. After taking a deep breath, Javert flattened his lips into a line and walked over beside Éponine at last, who had quieted herself and was now only sniffling softly as she wiped at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she lowered her eyes, "I-I don't know why I'm so upset." He said nothing, and she swallowed, "But they won't stop, you know. They'll never stop." Her voice grew quieter, and she shook her head, "Not until they've killed us too."

He moved closer to her, urging Éponine to look at him, and once she was, he hissed, "Do not say that."

She, however, had stopped listening abruptly, and was instead staring curiously at the nearby windowsill. Upon following her gaze, he saw that there seemed to be a small piece of paper tucked underneath the closed window, and after a long moment of silence, Éponine walked over and unfolded it, taking in the message scrawled onto the paper with worry in her eyes, for it was clear that she anticipated it to be yet another threat on her life. Javert watched with a furrowed brow, and when at last she looked up at him, Éponine bit her lip.

"I know this handwriting," she told him gravely, "It's Montparnasse's." Éponine shook her head, as if struggling to comprehend the words left for her, "He wants me to meet him at the Gorbeau House tomorrow night. Says he'll be sure no harm comes to me. He… only wants to talk."

Javert scoffed, "The boy is a fool." When he noticed that Éponine appeared to be thinking over the invitation in truth, however, he demanded, "Surely you are not thinking of going."

"He says I will not be harmed." Javert opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, "He is a thief and a killer, but he isn't a liar. I know him."

"You are absurd," his voice grew deeper, more guttural, "If you go there he will slit your throat."

"I cared for him once, I think. And if he only wants to talk-"

"You are not to go," he spoke harshly, bewildered and impossibly frustrated by her, "I forbid it."

Éponine looked somewhat taken aback, and her cheeks were quick to flush red with indignation, "You forbid it?"

In an instant, he regretted his words, for he knew Éponine viewed them as a challenge and hated the idea of being controlled more than anything else in the world. He did not, however, attempt to calm her, and instead said only, "It is foolish."

"You cannot _forbid_ me to do anything," she spat, "If I want to go, I will!"

"You would endanger yourself so recklessly," he stated. His anger hastened to express itself faster than he could rein it in, and he raised his voice to a volume he rarely used with her, "You carry our child-"

"What? Do you think I've forgotten that? Do you think it's slipped my mind?" she exclaimed, her temper peaked and her hands balled into fists at her sides.

For a moment Javert did not respond, and all at once, he became increasingly aware of the old woman's body lying only feet away from them as they fought. After glancing sideways at it and shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to another, he told her, "For decency's sake, we cannot argue next to a corpse."

At that, Éponine huffed, then turned on her heel and stormed toward the door, "Very well. Then we will argue at home."

In an effort to calm himself, Javert inhaled deeply and followed without a word, enduring the journey home with an uncomfortable silence hanging over the two of them. Eventually, once they reached their house once more, Éponine stepped inside, and, when Javert entered as well, he found her standing in the middle of the parlor with her arms folded, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed with rage. Javert, unsure of how to deal with her, lowered his eyes and shut the door behind him, only looking up at Éponine once he was standing in the middle of the parlor as well, mere feet away from her.

"So what will you do if I try to go, then?" she demanded, "Lock me in the bedroom? Tie me up like a prisoner?"

He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, inquiring steadily, "Do you wish to go?"

This seemed to catch Éponine off guard, for she did not, in reality, wish to go, and was angry only because she detested the idea of being forbidden to do so. After a moment, she sighed and relented, "No. But… if I did, you could not stop me! I…" she drifted off, and then abruptly raised her voice once more, "I'm very angry with you."

She began to storm off to the bedroom, but, with a touch that was somehow both gentle and powerful at the same time, Javert reached out and took hold of her arm, pulling her back into him slowly and wrapping his arms around her, enfolding her small body almost completely in his embrace. At this, Éponine scowled, and began to push him away from her, "Let me go."

"Do not be angry with me," he rasped and tightened his hold on her ever so slightly. At once, he could feel her fighting cease, but he could sense she was very much still unhappy with him.

"I _am_ angry with you," she insisted, though it didn't sound convincing to either of them now, and already, she could feel herself relaxing in his arms, her body releasing its tension and leaning back into his chest as if out of instinct.

"Do not be angry with me," Javert repeated, his voice barely audible this time. His mouth was mere inches from her ear, and the sound of his deep, gravelly voice speaking so tenderly to her weakened Éponine's knees. Gingerly, he laid a kiss upon her neck, prompting her to inhale sharply, and when he pulled away, he spoke softly once more, "I do not wish to trap you. I want only to keep you safe."

Éponine sighed and closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush against her shoulder again, her breath catching in her throat, "I won't go. I…I didn't really want to." She gasped when he once more placed his mouth upon her, and the gentle feeling of his lips against her neck sent a shiver up her back. All at once, however, she felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her, and her limbs began to go limp, her entire body growing weak at once. With a grin, she laced her fingers through his and breathed, "Kiss me. Please…"

Without a second's hesitation, Javert obeyed, urged her to turn slightly and, once she had, he seized her soft lips with his, countless declarations of love falling silently from his tongue and onto hers as she parted her lips and allowed him access to her mouth. Though he was not speaking, Éponine could feel the adoration in each of his kisses, and so she pulled him closer to her and buried a hand in his short, greying hair, as if to reassure him that she was here, and would be always. They remained like that for what felt like forever, their mouths crushed up against one another, their hands continually pulling the other closer to them as though they could never seem to get close enough. Éponine let loose a constant stream of soft noises against his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and then gasping aloud when his lips migrated to her neck, where they sucked and ravaged the tender flesh there. Another wave of exhaustion struck her, then, and she closed her eyes, breaking away from his lips and sighing.

"I am tired," she murmured against his shoulder, "I'm always so tired, now."

Upon looking down, he noticed that Éponine had already closed her eyes and leaned into his chest, and so, in one swift movement, he swept her up into his arms and listened contently when she laughed. Carefully, he made his way into their bedroom, and, like he had before, he placed Éponine down upon the bed, then pulled the covers over her. Just as he was about to leave her to rest, however, she reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him backwards and opening her eyes ever so slightly to look at him.

"Stay with me," she urged him, "Surely you can't think to make me sleep alone."

With something that Éponine supposed was meant to resemble a smirk, Javert walked over to the other side of the bed and took a seat beside her, gradually easing himself into a lying position. Once he had settled himself, Éponine moved closer to him and nestled her face into the crook of his neck with a happy sigh. Then, in what seemed like hardly five minutes, he heard Éponine's breathing even out as she began to doze. And finally, his mind and body at ease for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Javert drifted off as well beside her. Yet his peaceful state of mind was to be, as always, short-lived, and upon entering dreamland, he found himself once more confronted with his darkest fears, buried deep in the recesses of his mind, that would not consent to leave him be.

* * *

_He was in the dark._

_Javert knew nothing more than that; he could not see, could not hear, could not reach out and touch anything around him. It was an abyss, and while there was nothing to be seen around him, he felt as though the darkness was closing in around him somehow, suffocating him without relent and squeezing the very breath from his body. He felt fear rip through him, yet he could make no sound and found himself able only to stand there, trapped although there was nothing around him, paralyzed though he was not shackled or chained to the ground. Then, out of nowhere, he heard in the distance the echo of what sounded like a woman's cry, and though it sounded strikingly familiar, he could not, for some reason, place just who it belonged to. _

_He felt a tremor pass through the ground underneath him, then, and only seconds later, what looked to be a tunnel opened up before him, the darkness opening up and crumbling to the ground into dust. Like all men in the dark, he began to stumble hurriedly towards the light, desperate to reach it, and once he had, he found himself standing in an old, abandoned building without windows or doors. It smelt of musk, blood, and death, and the moment he stepped inside, he felt his stomach sink, though he knew not why he was so sickened by the place. On and on he walked through the building, yet at the same time, he did not feel as though he was moving at all, and he was left even more bewildered by the fact. Out of the blue, he heard a loud shriek only feet behind him, and this time, he did not have to think twice to know that it belonged to Éponine. With all haste, he spun around, and once he had, he came face to face with a sight that terrified him more than anything else in the world._

_It was Éponine, yet there was a dark figure behind her, and she was frozen in fear, as though he was holding a knife at her throat, ready to end her life in moments. Her assailant was not holding the blade at her neck, however, but the moment Javert glanced down at her belly, he tensed._

_She looked to be nearly seven months gone with child, and the prominent curve of her stomach was not at all hidden by her scanty clothing; the clothing she'd being wearing when he'd first met her. Her belly peaked out underneath her tattered, rag of a green chemise, and after a moment, Javert saw that the shadow behind her was holding the knife to her stomach, with the tip pointed directly at it, able to slice her open in under a second if they so desired. His breath hitched in his throat, and his stomach sank as another wave of panic crashed over him. Out of instinct, he began to lunge towards Éponine, but when he saw the shadow press the knife closer to her stomach, he halted himself and lowered his hands to his sides in capitulation. He did not know who this person was, what they wanted from him and Éponine, but he made no further move toward her and instead only remained where he was, petrified by the threat of the loss of Éponine and the child. _

"_Who are you?" his voice was booming, steady although he was afraid, but he assumed the most threatening posture he could and raised his chin, "What do you want?"_

"_You know who I am. And you know what I want," the voice replied, and the moment it did, the shadow's face was revealed. Javert did not have to think twice to realize who stood before him, holding a knife to Éponine's stomach and appearing as though he fully intended to slay her with it._

_It was her father._

_Javert could not see the majority of his face, nor did he very much recognize his voice, yet even so, he knew somehow, and he felt rage pound through his veins like fire. He was quick to regain his composure, however, and maintained his equanimity as best he could._

"_You want my life," he growled, "Release her and you shall have it."_

_Jondrette chucked, tightening his hold on Éponine and pressing the blade closer still to the swell of the child, "And if I let her live, you know what she'll do, Inspector?" Javert said nothing, and Jondrette snarled, "She'll birth your brat and bring another one of you into this damned world. Can't be having that now, can I?"_

"_Release her," he bit out, "Or I swear to you, Jondrette, you shall know the pain of a thousand deaths."_

"_What're you going to do, monsieur?" he chewed the title as though it tasted foul to him, "The moment you move, she dies. And her bastard, too. Why, I'll gut her like she's a pig, and it'll be on your head."_

_Although he knew not what compelled him to do so, he lunged toward Jondrette without warning, like a cat, but the man seemed to dance out of his way with Éponine still in his clutches almost effortlessly and reappear beside Javert. Bewildered, Javert froze for a moment, and Jondrette took advantage of his hesitation to speak once more._

"_Warned you, didn't I?"_

_Then, before Javert could make another move toward him, Jondrette plunged the knife as deep into Éponine's stomach as he could, burying it in her up to the hilt and then pulling back with a wicked cackle. Javert could but watch in horror as Éponine slid to the ground, letting loose a hoarse, almost inhuman cry of agony that sent shivers up his spine. With a low, rumbling growl, Javert moved forward, picked up the bloody knife, and then charged at Éponine's father, blinded by rage and desperate to slit the man's throat. Being that he was the larger of the two, Javert knocked him to the ground easily, but just as he was about to raise the knife and sink it into his chest as deep as he could, the man began to fade away beneath him until he was translucent, untouchable. Just before he disappeared entirely, however, Jondrette smirked once more, and Javert was so enraged that he could do nothing but stab the knife into the ground where he had vanished with one final bellow of rage. He remained there in silence for a moment, but after it'd passed, he heard a soft whimpering come from across the room, and when he looked up, he took in the sight of Éponine before him._

_She had propped herself up against the wall and was holding her hands to her stomach – and already, Javert could see that her chemise was soaked in blood. On unsteady legs, Javert rose to his feet and stumbled over to her as if in a trance, unsure if what he was seeing was real. It could not be, he thought to himself as he watched her raise her bloody hands to her eyes and take them in with horror. It could not be; this couldn't have happened, but when he tried to speak, his tongue felt cold and heavy in his mouth, like cotton. He fell to his knees before her, able to mutter only, "Éponine…"_

_She was breathing heavily, whimpering in pain, with hot tears trickling down her cheeks as she grasped onto her midsection frantically, as though doing so could keep the child from death. The pool of blood around her was growing, however, and both Éponine and Javert knew that there was no hope for the child, for surely even the strongest of babes could not survive such a brutal injury. Already, Javert could see the light fading from her eyes, and the fear he felt at that moment nearly stopped his heart inside him. He could not lose her too; he had never loved anyone else as he loved her, and the notion of her death nearly immobilized him. He was overcome by fear, by rage, by sorrow, and so, determined to keep her alive, he took her hands, pressed them to her belly, and then placed his on top of them, in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood._

"_We must stem the bleeding," he said, though his voice was hoarse and unsteady, and he could hardly recognize it as his own. He could feel his heart hammering inside him, his head pounding, "Press down." When he did not feel her apply any pressure to the wound, he raised his voice and moved closer to her, breathing heavily as though he'd just run ten miles, "Press harder!"_

_When he drew his hands away and held them up to look at them, however, he found his palms to be soaked with blood as well – with Éponine's blood, the blood of the child – and it was then that he knew she was dying. Surely, it wasn't possible for someone so small to lose so much blood and survive, and already, he could feel that she was becoming weaker, the life draining out of her body with each drop of blood she shed. _

"_The baby…" she croaked, her eyes glassy and swollen with tears._

_He swallowed, and when he began to speak, his mouth felt dry, "We must stop the bleeding."_

_At that, Éponine shook her head, removing his hand from her belly and allowing the blood to stream freely from the gash, "It is no use." With a weary smile, she sewed her fingers in with his, and then reached up to place a blood-stained hand upon his cheek. Her voice was quiet, and he could hear it growing quieter still with every passing second, "I love you."_

_Without meaning to, he raised his voice in desperation, "Do not go. You cannot go. Do you hear me, Éponine?"_

"_Don't yell at me," she breathed, drawing him closer to her and urging him to wrap his arms around her, "Just hold me." With a heavy heart, he obliged, holding her tightly in his arms and clutching her frantically to him, as he could somehow stop her from perishing. It was not right, Javert thought, that she should die before him, in such a gruesome way. He was an old man; if they were to part because of the hand of Death, it should be because of his death – not hers. She was young, full of promise, and he was old, and he prayed in that instant for her life to be spared, if only he could give his own. It made no sense to Javert, the unfairness of it all, and so he only tightened his hold on her as he listened to her breathing grow more labored and shallow. _

"_I'm so…tired," she murmured, and when he saw her eyes begin to fall closed, he shook her gently._

"_You must not sleep," he growled, then softened his voice and gulped, "Help will come. I forbid you to sleep."_

"_The baby…" she whispered, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach once more._

_He could see tears prickle her eyes as she looked upon her bloody, punctured womb, and the sight of such destroyed promise made them both ill. Éponine, however, was fading quickly, and hardly a second later, he could see her eyes close once more, and her hand went limp beneath his. For a second, he stopped breathing altogether, and when he noticed at last that her chest no longer rose and fell, he knew Éponine had gone. With wide, horrified eyes, he drew back for a moment, and when he looked upon Éponine for one final time, appearing as though she had but fallen into a restless slumber, he felt a tear form in the corner of his eye; a feeling he'd not felt in years, decades perhaps. He could not remember the last time he had cried – or if he had ever even cried at all, for he'd lived without emotion nearly his whole life until she had come to him. Surely he had not cried since he was a boy, yet now, with the loss of Éponine and the child, he knew nothing else to do, knew no other way to cope with the loss of the only things that had mattered to him. He was overcome by grief and anger, and with a roar of fury, he buried his head into her chest, next to her heart, bidding it to beat once more but finding that it would not obey. For what seemed like hours, he remained like that, holding her body as if she would, at any moment, awake from her sleep and open her eyes to look at him once more. Yet when it became clear to Javert that he would not – that she was truly gone – he pulled away from her and rose to his feet on trembling knees, his eyes plagued by tears for the first time in decades and wrath burning hot within him._

_The only thing for which he had lived was gone, and Javert knew at once that he could not live without her. He would awake each morning alone, pining for her presence beside him, but she would never be there, and he did not think he could bear such a thing. Now that he had known her love, he could not survive without it, and so, breathing heavily, he stumbled over to where the bloody knife lay; the knife that had taken Éponine's life, and the life of the child, and without hesitation, he placed it at his neck, knowing well what he had to do. _

_He would end his life with the knife that had taken their lives, and to him, it seemed eerily fitting. If Éponine was gone, then he would be gone as well. He did not know if he believed in Heaven, in an afterlife, but in that instant, just before he pushed the cool metal closer to his throat, he prayed he would be with her somehow._

_Without Éponine there was nothing; that was all he knew, and so, with another roar, he took a deep breath and pressed the knife into his skin._

* * *

When Javert awoke, he all but flew up in bed, breathing hard and clutching at his throat, for the feeling of the knife still felt startlingly real, as though it was still there, inches away from taking his life. It had all felt so real – the feeling of Éponine's blood on his hands, the touch of her hand to his cheek, the sound of her soft voice as she bid him goodbye – and his mind was reeling, trying to discern what had been a product of his imagination and what had been real. Wildly, he pawed at the other side of the bed, and when his hand located the sleeping Éponine, he calmed down at last, his breathing beginning to slow and even out as he realized that it had all been but a dream. His frantic groping to find Éponine had roused her, however, and after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she turned to look at him with a frown.

"What is it?" she shook her head, noticing how terrified he looked, "What's going on?"

"I had a dream," he rasped, and after a moment, he continued, "Your father captured you. Killed you." He shook his head and paused to catch his breath, "He put a knife into your belly and killed the child."

It did not take her long to realize how much the dream had frightened him, and so she moved closer to Javert and told him gently, "I am here. We're both here. See?" She took hold of his hand and guided it to the gentle swell of her stomach, and she could feel him relax almost instantly when he felt it there beneath her undergarments, safe and sound, "It was only a dream. We are safe."

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, and so Éponine urged him to lie down once more, encouraging him to place his head upon her chest and shushing him as though he was a child awakening from a nightmare. With a gentle, almost motherly touch, she set her hand on his hair and kissed his forehead, prompting him to calm himself at last.

"I slit my throat," he admitted, his voice deep and heavy, "I could not have lived if you were gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," she assured him softly, and for a while, they laid there in contented silence, until she felt his hand creep tentatively over her stomach and press down upon it, as if to ensure the child's wellbeing once more. Since his head was resting on her chest, she could not see his face, but she chuckled when she felt him cup the swell of the child protectively, in a gentle, innocent way, as though he were a simple-minded animal who thought now only of protecting his mate and offspring.

"It grows bigger every day. The midwife said it'll start quickening soon," she remarked with a sigh, then asked him jokingly, "Will you still love me once I've gotten fat?"

At last, Javert looked up at her and raise his face to hers, moving his mouth inches from her mouth and murmuring across her lips, "Yes."

After pressing his lips down upon hers in a slow, tender kiss, he pulled away and rested his head once more against her breast, staring down at her belly as if awed by the sight. It rose just barely above the blankets, and when he reached down and placed his hand on it once more, he imagined her soft flesh stirring beneath his fingertips, bursting with new life within. He said no more, and Éponine only watched with a sleepy grin as he stared at the growing bulge just below the blankets. They remained like that without a word, and when at last Javert did give himself over to the clutches of slumber, the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was her swollen stomach, the promise of new life, the dawn of a new tomorrow, and he found himself able to rest easy once more.


	6. VI

**VI**

* * *

Éponine had been thinking a great deal, lately.

She pondered the coming child often, and spent much of her time wondering what it would be like to hold the child of her body in her arms, to care for it as its mother and nurse it at her breast. Each morning, she would arise and look at herself in their bedroom mirror, finding that she grew more and more with each passing day and soon discovering that the majority of her dresses no longer fit her properly. Though she fretted about it for a while and tried to pin them shut instead, she eventually gave in and took them to a tailor to have them let out, which she sulked about for a while afterwards as well. More than anything else, really, she thought of the child, wondered and imagined and dreamed of it, yet something else crossed her mind frequently as well.

She hadn't forgotten the fact that she and Javert were unwed, and she could remember Javert's words to her the day she'd told him of her pregnancy clearly: that, although they would not view it as such, their child would be born a bastard in the eyes of the law, and of society. The notion troubled her more than she would ever admit, for she knew well she did not want any child of hers to be mocked or alienated when she herself had been mocked so often, back when she'd lived in penury. Yet at the same time, the idea of marriage troubled her just as much, and so she was left unable to decide what to do, if she ought to marry Javert at last or allow their child to be born into illegitimacy. She supposed they could marry later on, after the baby was born and they were settled, but to Éponine, it seemed as though it was now or never, and she knew not what to do. Soon, she would no longer be able to hide her belly underneath shawls or anything of the sort, and if they were to marry, it would be painfully obvious to everyone why. She didn't think she could endure the shame of people thinking that they'd had to hurry and wed because she'd gotten with child.

Éponine did not know what to do, and it left her hopelessly confused, trying and always failing to know what she truly wanted to do, what she ought to do.

It was early evening in the depths of winter, and Éponine was sitting in the armchair before the fireplace in their parlor, staring at the band of gold upon her finger and occasionally touching the cold metal with a frown of contemplation. Although she'd rejected his proposal of marriage a few months before, she'd not given him back the ring and had instead worn it each day on her finger, as if to reassure him of her devotion. Now, however, it served only to distress her further as she stared down at the gentle curve of her belly, as she knew the time for a discreet marriage would soon run out, and she detested the idea of marrying him simply because she was with child. She exhaled sharply in frustration, removing the band from her finger and staring at it with her lips flattened into a grim line. All at once, a large hand laid itself upon her shoulder, and she glanced behind her to find Javert standing there, having approached her almost soundlessly and watched from afar as she examined the ring. With a sigh, Éponine glanced up at him, but tore her eyes quickly from his and looked down instead.

At that, he frowned, and asked quietly, "What is it?"

Éponine didn't respond for a moment, and when she did, she spoke softly, "I've been thinking. About it all." Again, she sighed and glanced down at her stomach, "About the baby, and what you said – about it being born a bastard. You're right." She gulped, "It won't matter to us, but it will matter to everyone else, and the law. A-and I've been thinking of it. Of… marriage." Finally, she looked up at him and admitted, "I don't know what to do."

They were silent for a moment, and Javert was the one to end it, "I was born a bastard." His tone was serious, grave, "My parents were not married, and I never knew my father." He paused, and then continued, "I was mocked as a child. Pushed in the mud, spat upon. When I became a guard in Toulon, my illegitimacy was public knowledge, and my peers never failed to remind me of it. A few of the convicts learned of it, somehow." He snarled, "And when they did they deemed me even lower than them." Again, he stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was raspy, "I would not wish it upon anyone."

Javert came to stand before her then, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, "I-I don't want to be married only because of the baby."

"Then let us be married for love," he extended a hand to her and pulled Éponine to her feet and into his chest, holding her with the gentle strength he always used whilst touching her, "Marry me if it is what you want." He clenched his jaw, "Not if you think you must."

Éponine lowered her eyes and gulped, "I have to decide now, don't you see?" He furrowed his brow in confusion, and she shook her head, "Soon I won't be able to hide it anymore, and if we marry then, everyone will think we only did it because I'm with child." Javert said nothing and instead let her think, and after a moment, she swallowed and blurted out suddenly, "But I want to do it. It is…what is right. I want to marry you." Overjoyed to hear her speak the words but giving no outward sign of the fact, he pulled her closer to him, and she grinned up at him though part of her was still very unsure, "I am… ready."

His eyes softened, and all at once, he captured her lips with his in a deep, fiery kiss into which he poured every scrap of affection within him. He had perhaps never loved her more than he did in that moment, and he felt happier than he ever had before, though of course he was not apt to show it. For so long had he wanted her to be his wife, and now that she was to be, he almost could not believe his good fortune, that she had somehow come to love someone like him enough to become his wife, to see them bound together in the eyes of God.

After a moment, she broke away, and he was quick to ask, "When?"

"As soon as we can," she breathed, "Tomorrow."

Again, he kissed her, and though there was still a feeling of doubt hanging over her that she could not shake, she relaxed into his arms and let her body melt into his, her arms slithering around the back of his neck and holding on tightly. She could sense how happy he was, now that she'd agreed to wed him at last, and although she tried to tell herself that she was happy as well, she could not dispel the feeling of dread in her stomach, the feeling that marriage was still not what she wanted. Yet even if it was not what she wanted, she told herself firmly, it was what was right, for surely it would be worse for the child to be born illegitimate than for them to marry now. Javert was quick to deepen their kiss, encircling her with his arms and drawing her close, every touch of his hand to her body gentler than she could have ever imagined him being capable of. Quickly, she could feel that she was losing herself in his kiss, her worries fleeing her mind and her muscles releasing their tension. Then, out of the blue, she felt a fire ignite itself between her legs, a yearning for him that hit her of nowhere, and she moaned softly into his mouth, for the desire was stronger than any she'd ever felt before, her want for him almost unbearable. They'd not made love in months on the advice of the midwife she'd consulted, yet now, she thought she would go mad if he did not touch her, and she did not think she could stand another day without it.

Breathing heavily, she broke away from the kiss and panted, "Go to the bedroom. I'll be there in a minute."

Without hesitation, Javert nodded and stalked off to the bedroom, and it was there that he waited for Éponine, seated upon the bed with his heart racing and his palms sweaty from anticipation. Finally, after a few minutes, Éponine appeared in the doorway, having changed into a lacy, cream-colored nightdress that cinched gently at the waist, with a pastel green bow tied over the swell of her belly. Her hair looked feather-soft and newly brushed, falling just past her shoulders in soft waves. As she stepped inside, her hands clasped behind her back, Javert thought to himself that she looked as if she had a glow about her in the late evening sun, and he beheld her beauty in silence for a moment, until he looked into her eyes and noticed the worry in them. Then, he observed her stance, and noticed she was standing rather apprehensively, appearing almost to draw in on herself.

He furrowed his brow, "What is it?"

Éponine lowered her eyes, then hugged her arms to her body and admitted softly, "I was going to come in here without any clothes on. But…then I thought maybe you wouldn't like how I look, now." Javert said nothing, taken aback by her sudden trepidation, and she fidgeted beneath the intensity of his gaze, "I could keep my nightdress on, maybe…if you don't want to-"

Javert got to his feet, then, and advanced toward her slowly, baffled by her unwillingness to let him see her nude, for she'd never exhibited any such reluctance before and had often strutted around naked without a qualm. There was a sort of timidity about her that she'd never once displayed in bed with him, and it left him bewildered, unsure what to make of this sudden change in Éponine. He came to stand before her, and once he had, he reached out and pulled the ties on her nightgown that bound it to her upper half, prompting the soft fabric to fall around her shoulders and nearly bare her breasts to him. With wide eyes, she watched as Javert pulled the rest of her nightdress off of her, leaving her completely nude before him in the darkness.

Slowly, he ran his eyes over her body, taking her in without a word and finding himself fascinated by the changes in her that'd occurred in such a short span of time, since he'd last seen her without a scrap of clothing on. Her breasts, which had been small and pleasingly round before, were now fuller, swollen, and he imagined that, if he were to take one into his hand, it would fill the entirety of his palm with soft, pillow-like flesh. Her skin felt softer to the touch, and looked as though it had a shine to it he'd never seen before. Her cheeks were fuller, her hips wider, and when he glanced down at her stomach, he marveled at the sight, as he'd not seen it bare before and found himself awed by it. It stuck out quite prominently on her small frame, curving gracefully out from underneath her bosom, and he could see at once why she'd been so hesitant to allow him to see her without clothes on. She had changed a great deal, and he could sense her discomfort with it all, how she believed she'd only grown fat. Yet he had, in truth, never seen her look more beautiful, and it was not long before he felt the first stirrings of arousal deep within his gut.

After he hadn't spoken for a minute, she bit her lip and cast her eyes down to the floor, "I knew you wouldn't like it." He said nothing, and she shook her head, certain that she must have grown quite ugly over the course of the past four months, "You don't want me now." Again, he did not speak, and she frowned, "Say something."

With a low growl of desire, he tugged her into him and seized her lips with his, tangling his hand in her soft tresses of hair. He broke away after a moment, and Éponine looked up at Javert with surprise when he shook his head and hissed, "No."

He kissed her once more, more forcefully this time, and she breathed, "W-what?"

"I will never not want you," he uttered throatily, pulling her into another kiss and urging her to wrap her legs around him. Once she had, he lifted her up gently and placed her on the bed, taking care not to allowing his weight to crush her stomach, then moved his lips to her neck and eventually to her breasts, which he ravaged with long, wet kisses as well. At once, Éponine knew that he did not think her ugly, and she felt so happy that she could not help but laugh as he kissed her, his mouth drawing lower and lower with every second. After suckling at one of her nipples and feeling her squirm beneath him, he moved his mouth down to her swollen stomach and kissed it lightly, as if afraid he might somehow harm the child by touching it. For a moment he only stared at it, fascinated and almost frightened by the idea that new life had come from the two of them, from almost nothing. Still, it aroused him, too, to see her so full with child – with his child – and a feral growl loosed itself from his throat before he could stop it.

"You are beautiful," he rasped, bringing his face up to her neck once more and kissing it tenderly. Éponine squirmed again, a familiar wetness beginning to manifest itself between her legs, and he moved his mouth to her stomach once more, murmuring across the soft, bulging skin, "You are mine."

Tired of foreplay at last, Javert laid himself down and urged Éponine to straddle him, knowing it wouldn't be wise for him to be on top any longer. Once they had switched positions, Éponine finally began to set about disrobing him, nearly ripping his shirt and jacket off of him and throwing them carelessly on the ground. Then, she dipped her head down and placed it directly above his groin, kissing the tender skin through his trousers and listening with satisfaction when he growled, his manhood hardening and aching to be released. After teasing him for a moment longer, she reached down with a sly grin and unbuttoned his trousers, grabbing hold of his hardness once it came into view and wrapping her lips around it hungrily, taking almost all of him into her mouth with a low moan. At that, he groaned, and placed his hand gently on her head as she ran her tongue along his member, taking it into her mouth eagerly, as though it tasted sweeter than honey. The feeling of her hot, wet mouth around him drove Javert mad with lust, and when she tore herself away and smirked at him, he moaned once more.

"Mmm," she hummed happily, "I've missed you."

She drew back all at once, and straightened her back on top of him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes burning black with desire. He felt himself grow harder still as he looked upon her, so beautiful and full, and the sight awakened the basest, most primal urges in him. Above him, Éponine smirked, then locked her eyes steadily on his and positioned herself over his length, sinking down upon it slowly and gasping when he entered her, but never once looking away from him. She'd almost forgotten how good it felt, how long and thick around he was, and she tossed her head back with an airy shriek as pleasure raged between her legs. Gradually, she began to ride him, slowly at first but quickly picking up pace, her body shaking and shuddering as she took him into her sex. The feeling was heaven to Javert, and he matched her rhythm with gentle thrusts of his own from below, lost in the sensation of her folds enveloping him so completely, carrying him effortlessly into her depths. He was overwhelmed, unable to do anything other than moan beneath her as he watched Éponine ride him, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and her breasts bouncing with every movement of their bodies together. He had perhaps never felt like more a man as he did in that instant, looking upon her swelling stomach and the child he'd given her, and the animal in him wanted to roar with satisfaction to know that, despite his advanced age, he was not a feeble, crippled old man; he was still young, virile, and Éponine made him feel younger still.

And he adored it all, just as he adored her.

She, meanwhile, could feel herself building quickly toward her orgasm, climbing the mountain to its peak, but her movements atop him remained gentle, and after a moment she leaned down and placed a sloppy kiss upon his lips, panting and crying out against his mouth. In response, he reached out and cupped the fullness of her breast, caressing her nipple and then reaching his hand down as well to tease her clit, the spot he knew drove her mad. Once there, he traced light, tender circles on it, matching the pace of her movements on top of him, and when he tore his mouth away from hers and raised his mouth to suckle one of her breasts once more, he felt her shake to pieces above him in her climax and collapse against his chest. The powerful clenching and trembling of her inner walls proved to be more than he could handle, and, after flipping their positions and thrusting himself into her quivering entrance for a minute longer, he came as well, releasing his hot seed inside her with one final bellow of satisfaction and feeling her sex take it in with all eagerness, milking every last drop of him, and the sensation drove his satisfaction to even greater heights. Once he had finished, he placed a hand on her leg and urged her onto her hands and knees beside him, and Éponine complied with a smirk, her body still aflame with lust and craving more. He was quick to enter her again, mounting her like a dog, and she could only moan hoarsely against the blankets. Neither Éponine nor Javert was certain how long their sex lasted after that, if it was hours or mere minutes, yet once they had both finished and found themselves too exhausted to carry on, they fell into each other's arms, their bodies slick with sweat and their chests heaving.

After they'd had a while to collect themselves, Javert looked down at Éponine, who had nestled herself comfortably into his chest, and remarked, "I should have been gentler."

"I didn't mind," she chuckled, but when she looked up and saw that he looked serious, she smiled to reassure him, "You did not hurt either of us."

Javert breathed out slowly and drew her closer to him, breathing in her faint, flowery scent and feeling her heart beat beside his. Overwhelmed by happiness, he closed his eyes and told her, "We shall go in the morning to seek a marriage license. And then," he urged her to look at him, and once she was, he kissed her forehead, "we will be wed."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Éponine's heart sank, and the events of the hour before came back to her all at once. She knew, then, that she could not marry him; it was not what she wanted, not now, not so soon. It was all happening too quickly – the baby, the marriage – and her heart began to pound, her only thoughts on escaping, on freeing herself from what she feared would one day be a trap, a place she was unable to leave. Even Javert's arms around her now felt like a cage, but she bore it as best she could until she heard him doze off beside her, and only then did she free herself and come to stand by the side of the bed, looking upon him with fear in her eyes. She could not marry him tomorrow, yet she did not have the heart to tell him of her wishes, for he'd seemed so overjoyed to have her agree to his proposal earlier that evening. She needed time and space to think; she could remain here no longer. With a heavy heart, she threw on her undergarments and a plain, blue dress from the wardrobe, before grabbing a few francs, a satchel, and her shawl and heading for the door, leaving Javert a brief note that said only 'Do not look for me. I need to think.'

She could not stay here, could not marry him so soon, and her panic easily overwhelmed her sense of reason. She had to go. Where? She hadn't the slightest idea, but anywhere would be better than here, where the world was moving so quickly around her, with a marriage and a child closing in on her far too fast. She yearned for the freedom of the days of old, when she'd not felt so tied down, and in that instant, she could think only of freeing herself, of leaving this place. More than anything else, she yearned for the world to stop turning and allow her time to think, and it was with this in mind that she scrambled toward the door, holding only a small leather satchel with money and a few bits of food in it.

Éponine did not know where she was going or what she meant to do, but she opened the door and stepped outside nonetheless, then set off down the street with a heaviness in the pit of her stomach.


	7. VII

**VII**

* * *

On and on, Éponine walked through the thickness of the night, clutching her shawl to her body and shuddering violently as the biting winter wind blew in her face and ate at her bones. Her teeth were chattering, her arms trembling and her fingers beginning to go numb, and she knew she would soon have to find some kind of shelter for the night, for she would surely perish in this cold if she slept outside. For a moment she wondered what she was doing, why she had been foolish enough to leave Javert, but she did not dare turn back and return to their home. She had no room to think there; the only things she'd ever thought about there were the coming child and the marriage Javert wanted so very much, and she did not think she could stand another minute in that house. As thoughts of the child crept into her mind, however, she frowned and placed a hand on her belly, knowing in an instant that she had to seek shelter – if not for the sake of herself, then for the sake of the baby. She exhaled sharply, and watched her breath float up into the frigid air as snowflakes fell from the sky and landed on her nose. Still, she walked on and on through the dark streets of Paris, not knowing where her feet were leading her, yet once she looked up and took in the buildings around her, she knew.

She was in Saint-Michel again, and the place she'd once called home now seemed most uninviting, its old, decrepit buildings looming over Éponine as though they were glaring down at her. Once more, she shivered, but kept on nonetheless, and after she'd walked for a while longer, she came upon the old Gorbeau House. It was not much changed from the last time she'd been there, and the sight made her blood run cold as recollections of her miserable time there returned to her mind. Overwhelmed by sudden hatred for the place, she frowned and began to turn to walk away, but a soft, croaky voice stopped her in her tracks.

"'Ponine?"

All at once, she turned around, only to find Azelma sitting against the side of the building, her knees pulled up to her chest and a hooded cloak concealing most of her body from view. Éponine had not even noticed her as she'd passed by, and when her eyes met her younger sister's once more, her mouth fell agape with shock.

"Azelma," she breathed, hurrying over to the girl and falling to her knees beside her, "W-what are you doing out here?"

"Ma…told me to beg. But…what are _you _doing here?" she bit out through her chattering teeth, and Éponine pulled her to her feet with a frown, ignoring her question.

"No one is going to be around here at this hour," she said, enfolding her sister in a brief embrace and then asking, "Is there somewhere we can go?"

Azelma nodded, "Come on. W-we'll go up to the flat. Ma and Pa are away pulling a job, won't be back for a day."

Quickly, the two sisters scurried into the old tenement house, darting up the stairs and entering their family's little flat with all haste. Upon stepping inside, Éponine found the place exactly the same as she'd left it; still as plain and filthy as before, with only another dirty mattress having been added in her absence. After shucking her cloak, Azelma set about lighting a small fire in the hearth, and once she had, she and Éponine took a seat beside it, rubbing their hands together to warm themselves in the bitter air. For a while neither of them spoke, and Azelma was the one to end the silence between them at last.

"What you are doing back around these parts?" she furrowed her brow, "Where is the Inspector?"

Éponine bit out a dark laugh, "Back home. Still sleeping, I bet."

"What happened?"

Éponine hesitated and lowered her eyes, "I told him I'd marry him." She paused, and Azelma glanced over at her in confusion, "He'd asked me so many times before. And today I told him that I would, and then I realized…" she looked over at her sister and met her eyes, "I didn't really want to."

"But why did you say yes now…if you always said no before?"

With a gulp, Éponine slowly reached for her shawl and tossed it off of her, letting it fall to the ground and leaving the curve of her stomach plain for Azelma to see in the dim light. As soon as she looked upon her belly and realized the answer to her question, Azelma glanced up at Éponine with wide, incredulous eyes, gaping at her and struggling to speak.

"You're…" she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief and finding herself unable to finish her sentence.

Éponine bit her lip, "It's going to be born a bastard if we don't marry. And he was talking about…about how he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, and how he wouldn't wish it on anyone, and…" she sighed, "And so I told him I would, because I thought it would be right."

"But…you don't really want to marry him, do you?" Azelma asked, and her older sister nodded grimly.

"I left. I didn't know what else to do," she rasped, staring blankly ahead at the flames, "E-everything was happening so quickly." She stopped to take a breath and closed her eyes, "He will worry himself sick over me."

"Why did you come here? You know Pa and the rest of them want you dead."

"I don't know," she murmured, "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Well, you can stay here for the night," Azelma told her, "But Ma and Pa will be back after that." She thought for a moment, then said, "I'm friends with the baker's son, and they have an attic in the bakery with a bed no one's sleeping in. They let me go there sometimes, when Ma throws me out of the house. Maybe you can stay there…until you know what you're going to do, 'Ponine."

Éponine forced a smile in response, and after a long moment of silence, she remarked desolately, "Pa and his friends want me dead. They'll be even angrier once they find out I'm with child."

"I won't tell them," Azelma declared, moving closer to Éponine and wrapping her arms around her, "I promise."

For a while longer they stayed like that without speaking, and once Azelma began to feel her eyes droop from exhaustion, she yawned and got to her feet, leading Éponine over to the mattress on the floor and, after they'd both lied down, pulling a surprisingly heavy blanket over them. It brought Éponine back to the time they'd spent together as children, when they'd slept side by side in their inn in Montfermeil and they hadn't had a care in the world. With a happy sigh, Azelma moved closer to Éponine and rested her head on her shoulder with a sleepy grin.

"I missed you, 'Ponine," she told her, and Éponine smiled.

"I missed you too, 'Zelma," she replied, "But I haven't missed this place."

"You look so fancy now, like a proper lady. And you smell nice, too."

Éponine chuckled, then abruptly grew solemn and reached down to place a hand on her belly, "He will worry about me. About us. He always says how he fears losing me more than anything else."

"He really loves you, then," Azelma said, and Éponine nodded, "You're going to have his child too."

"I know," Éponine muttered, looking down at the bulge in her middle that rose just above the blanket with a thoughtful frown.

"Does it frighten you?" the younger girl inquired.

Éponine closed her eyes and licked her lips, looking over at Azelma with wide eyes, "I…Yes." Éponine sighed and rolled over to face her sister, "It is strange, to think there's someone…inside me. And I don't know how to do it. To be a mother." She scoffed at the absurdity of it all, "I will be worse than Ma."

"No you won't," Azelma shook her head, "You won't be anything like Ma." Éponine licked her lips and said nothing, and after a moment, Azelma piped up once more, "I never thought it would be like this, you know." Éponine looked at her in confusion, and Azelma flattened her lips into a line, "You going off and getting married and having babies."

"I never thought it'd be like this, either," she chuckled, and then abruptly grew solemn, "It frightens me, sometimes. I-I know it hurts to have a child, and…" she gulped, "And I know you can die, and-"

"You won't die, 'Ponine!" Azelma exclaimed with a frown, "Don't think that way."

Éponine sighed and rolled over to face her completely with a forced smile, "You're right. I won't."

"Just think: I'll be an aunt," the younger girl giggled, and this time, Éponine's smile was real.

"I missed you, Azelma," she muttered truthfully, her eyes beginning to droop with exhaustion, and her sister took hold of her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"You too, 'Ponine."

Hardly a minute later, Éponine's eyes fell closed and her body released its tension as it gave itself over to unconsciousness. Yet she dreamt of Javert, of marriage and their child, of Patron-Minette and the danger that lingered behind her everywhere she went, and even as she slept, she found herself unable to rest easy.

* * *

Just before dawn, Éponine and Azelma rose, and, after eating a bit of bread her sister had managed to steal, Éponine went on her way, so as to avoid encountering her parents when they returned. Azelma had given her the address of the bakery where she could stay, and so she draped her shawl around herself and went on her way, venturing back out into the biting cold and making her way quickly to the baker's. After she explained who she was and revealed her condition to them, they let her inside and led her up to the attic, which she found to be a rather dark, musky place. The ceiling was much shorter than she was and she had to duck whenever she stood, but it was far better than being out in the cold, and she thanked the owners earnestly. Once she was alone, Éponine took a look around the dismal space, and chewed her lip at the sight. The bed was little more than a pallet on the ground, and the only pieces of furniture were an old, crooked chair in one of the corners and a broken mirror. The room was adorned with cobwebs and sprinkled with a layer of dust as well, and the walls creaked noisily every time a gust of wind blew past.

It was a rather cold, gloomy place, but it would have to do, Éponine decided.

With a sigh, Éponine clutched her shawl around her body and strolled over to the shattered mirror. Then, with a frown, she reached out her hand and stared at the reflection looking back at her through the broken, cracked glass, and she realized after a moment that she hardly recognized herself. She had dark bags underneath her eyes from the lack of sleep she'd suffered during the past few nights, and her hair was in a sorry state as well, laying tangled and knotted upon her head. Éponine could see that she looked paler, and she bit her lip as she touched a finger gently to the glass and blinked at her reflection. She did not look much like herself, she realized – at least not the happy person she'd been before with Javert. Now, she looked startlingly like the miserable creature she had been on the streets, and the sight appalled her. When had she become so unhappy? She could not remember when the change had occurred, and she wondered for a moment if she ought to return to Javert, or if she ought to leave, to flee to the countryside where she could think at last, freed from all that would hold her down.

Yet as she glanced down at her stomach in the mirror, she knew she could not. She needed Javert; she could not leave and never return and bring a child up on her own. But she could not return right now, she decided, and with a heavy heart, she walked over to the mattress and fell down upon it, wondering to herself what he had done upon awakening and finding her gone. He would not sleep until he found her – of that she was sure. He would worry himself sick, and for a moment, the thought of him so anxious for her made guilt creep into her stomach. Éponine sighed, lying down and burying her face into her shawl. Shortly thereafter, she fell into another fitful slumber that she drifted in and out of for hours, her body longing for rest but her mind unable to grant it. Once night had fallen, Éponine, tired of being cooped up in the attic, dared to venture out into the streets once more under cover of darkness, hoping she could ease her troubled mind with a walk. As she always had before, she strolled along in the darkness without destination, without purpose, imagining Javert by her side as she walked down the empty streets at night. On and on she strolled, ducking into dark alleyways and cloaking herself in the shadows, until she reached a part of the city she failed to recognize, or perhaps one she had once known, but forgotten.

Just as she was making to turn back, however, she heard light footsteps behind her, prompting her to quicken her pace. When she reached an alleyway, however, and began to hurry into it, Éponine felt a hand reach out and grab onto her arm, while another clamped itself over her mouth and pulled her backward. Fear sprung into her, and she began to struggle against her attacker, but when they turned her around to look at them, she froze.

It was Montparnasse.

Before she had time to make a sound or take another look at him, he yanked her into a nearby building and closed the door behind them, releasing Éponine and coming to stand before her in the empty room with a smirk. Stunned and terrified, Éponine blinked, taking in the sight before her with fear in her eyes; fear not for herself, but for the child. Montparnasse looked just as she remembered him: tall, handsome, with the same taunting smirk on his face he'd always had. He was dressed in a fine black frock coat and the top hat he frequently wore, which she'd always thought ridiculous, and he was standing before her with his arms folded and a rather pleased look on his face.

"Nice to see you again, my dear 'Ponine," he greeted, and she scowled, her heart racing inside her.

She raised her chin at him, remaining outwardly calm, "Are you going to kill me?"

"Do you see me holding a knife to your throat?" She furrowed her brow in confusion, and he continued, "Perhaps I should," he chuckled, taking a blade from his pocket and running his finger along it with a grin. Éponine gulped, and he laughed once more, "But no. Not now at least. Your father and the rest of them wouldn't be very happy with me if I offed you by myself."

She clenched her jaw, relaxing somewhat but staying on her guard, "How did you find me?"

He made a 'tsking' noise with his tongue, "It's not safe to go walking alone at night, mademoiselle. It can be dangerous in these parts. You may find yourself encountering people like me."

Irritated by his calm, ever-unctuous manner, she bit out, "What do you want with me?"

"What? Am I forbidden to speak with you now? It has been so very long, 'Ponine. I only wish to become…reacquainted." He strolled closer to her, bringing a hand to her cheek and caressing it gently, "How long has it been, exactly? Since you ratted me and your father out to the police and got us arrested?"

"Don't touch me," she spat and began to step away, but he caught her arm with ease and pulled her into him. Then, he pushed her up against a nearby wall, his eyes narrowed and blackened with desire, and she gulped.

He brought his mouth to her ear, then rasped lowly, "And how long has it been, exactly…since I last fucked you?"

"Is that what you want, then?" she hissed, refusing to show fear, "To rape me?"

With a low, rumbling chuckle that made her shiver, he backed away and folded his arms once more, "No. I've no desire to stick my cock where the Inspector's stuck his. He's soiled you, that bastard." He raised his eyebrows and made a mock sigh of sorrow, "And it is a pity."

"You want to talk," she scowled, "Talk."

"You got my message, I presume?" Slowly, she nodded, recalling the note he'd tucked under the windowsill at one of the crime scenes, "You never came, though I said you would not be harmed."

"I was supposed to trust you?" she scoffed, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I said no harm would come to you," he repeated, stepping closer to her again, "I am a thief, and a murderer, but seldom do I lie, my dear 'Ponine."

"I didn't want to see you."

"Hmm," Montparnasse cocked his head to one side, inching closer still to Éponine, "You didn't want to see me? You claimed to love me once. All those times you'd be keeping watch for your father and we'd sneak off together, fuck in an alleyway. You used to scream my name. Beg me for more." He snarled, "I don't know what happened to you. That bastard Inspector's gotten to your head."

"I love him," she sneered, "I never loved you."

Montparnasse smirked, then looked her up and down and asked, "What're you hiding beneath that shawl?"

Éponine swallowed, "What?"

"You're holding onto it like a weapon," he grinned, "What've you got under it? A gun? Going to shoot me, 'Ponine?"

All at once, he lunged toward her and unraveled the shawl from around her body in one swift movement, tossing it to the side and taking in the sight before him with disgust: the way her belly curved forward beneath her dress, the way her hands flew to her stomach the instant he ripped it away, and the terror in her eyes when she looked up at him, half-expecting him to charge at her and slit her throat without hesitation.

His eyes narrowed, and his upper lip curled into a hideous sneer, "_You_…" he shook his head, anger bleeding into his eyes, "Whore!"

Without warning, he reached out and slapped her, the fingers on his fingers slicing into her flesh and drawing blood. Éponine cried out in pain and stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face and the other flying to her stomach out of instinct to protect the child.

"I should've known," Montparnasse spat, "You stupid little slut. Should've known you'd be dumb enough to spread your legs and get yourself up the duff. And with Javert's brat!" He barked a laugh as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, "Is that why you're here? He threw you out?" Again, he cackled, and slapped her again, causing her to fall to her knees before him, "Your Pa will have your head when he finds out about this. He'll cut that bastard right out of you and wring its neck – and you'll deserve it."

She growled as blood began to trickle down her cheeks like crimson tears, "Javert will kill you first. All of you."

Montparnasse charged toward her and grabbed her throat, pushing her up against the wall and looking into her eyes, which were burning with rage, "He can't kill all of us at once, my dear. Not before we kill him. And we will." He released her all at once, and she fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath as he backed away, "Farewell, my 'Ponine. I do believe… we will be seeing each other soon."

With that, Montparnasse turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Éponine alone in the empty building, her cheeks bleeding and her heart racing. With a trembling hand, she pressed her sleeve to her face to staunch the flow of blood and got to her feet. All at once, the overwhelming urge to see Javert hit her, to feel his arms around her and hear his voice in her ear once more, and she did not think she could stand another minute without him. Éponine did not know what she would say upon returning, how she would explain her sudden departure, but it was there she belonged; not back here in Saint-Michel, on the streets with the criminals she'd once called family. She needed him as he needed her, and so, with all haste, she took her leave from the abandoned building and hurried out into the streets once more, rushing along as though Montparnasse was only inches behind her, hot on her heels.

After a few minutes passed and she realized no one was following her, Éponine slowed her pace, and, with a heavy heart, she turned back toward their little home and walked on.


End file.
